The Summer's Fervor
by Gumdrop Boo
Summary: They all knew they had paths to a future, unclear as some may be and a single emerging emotion or action could change their fates forever. After all summer is a season that brings a bit of sizzle. :Post movie 3 yrs; comp. of extended/related oneshots:
1. A Choice of Happiness

**A/N:** _So after a short break I bring you the Summer compilation of my series! If you are just now stumbling upon this I__** strongly**_ _suggest you read [in the mentioned order]:  
__**The Winter Haul  
The Sting of Spring  
**__But of course that is just my suggestion for your all encompassing reading experience__**. **__Other than that, tally-ho and away you go!_

_xXx_

When a pair of lips parted to reveal compressed teeth, a smile was born. What surrounded him were smiles—though still weak and still rare after the whole month of mourning after the return of Berk's warriors from the Southern Islands. The ones that had lived.

They finally were allowing themselves to laugh and it was beautiful to hear. At last a hint at something happier was spreading through the villagers of Berk. Happiness—even the word felt near foreign to him after everything was said and done. Let them have it. They deserved it.

_But __**I**__ don't_.

He clasped his hands together and sat forward, listening to the pounding of rhythmic drums that were resounding through the village circle. The fifes, the lutes, the pipes all joined in and the people of Berk began to dance. They had shed off their thick furs and heavy linens to a season filled with warmth.

Okay, maybe Hiccup was sarcastically exaggerating when he complained that Berk had nine months of snow and three of hail—sometimes, _sometimes_ there were breathtakingly _warm_ days for weeks on end. Not to mention long hours of daylight. It was late however and the braziers, once used as a means to view dragon attacks in the dead of dark were now raised and drenched the movement of the dancers in light against the set of late evening.

Hiccup himself was only wearing a green tunic of lighter material without sleeves, and breeches that were rolled up to his knees—well one knee. He kept the pant of his left leg rolled down so not to have to make anyone uncomfortable at seeing where prosthetic adhered to flesh. He was trying to the hardest, to keep his future bride comfortable while they awaited their looming wedding date. He had managed to delay it for nearly two months with excuses of having to rest, time to mourn the dead, etc. Though, he knew he had to get it over with to establish and maintain a peaceful link to their former Celtic enemies. To honor the agreement made in his negotiations.

He didn't even think he would be able to end the Viking raid, in fact if it wasn't for Toothless, the Celtic Lords would have taken his head. The negotiations were not made by a sensible Hiccup, but a young man filled with anger and impatience—not stopping to think of how or why he did it but here they all were, back home, lives changed forever.

He glanced over at her, the future bride whom they called Brynna—a pretty lass with freckles and a dark auburn mane of curls, with a pretty name—but it was far from warding off trolls. She was sitting near and watching the festivity with his same hopeless expression. Berk did not take kind to her, a child of the Celtics, the recent enemy that had done in their warriors as much defending as the Vikings had at attacking.

He really didn't know her all that well. He knew she could speak his language but she chose not to converse with him. No one even knew _how_ she had learned it. Perhaps it was better if they didn't speak for he knew he could never love her.

Everything was his fault, and if it wasn't he blamed himself anyway. Oh, the sheep got loose, there's a leak in the ale drum, the grease fire won't pat out—_my fault_. He deeply regretted ever disobeying his father's orders the season before to stay home. The guilt of all that had happened crushed the young Viking to a point he punished himself, shut himself out of the reality around him only available to the attentions of the night fury. His father was maimed, his true love loathed him, and his future was bleak in terms of happiness.

Thinking of love, he dared glance at the blonde female who had generously let Tuffnut lead her in a dance. Gods she was beautiful, especially in the summer with her hair gathered on her head to keep her neck cool, the thin material of her summer dress that accentuated her shape—only reminded him what he could have had. He was torn at the slightest glimpse of her. She would not let him near to even explain himself for his actions or apologize. She had loved him; he was forced to surrender her. Now she was shielded. He would always love her, of that he was absolutely sure—and that's why he could never find happiness again. Astrid was his happiness.

_Happiness, _Hiccup thought, yearning for it—remembering the last true moment of happiness he had experienced was months ago, against the lips of _that_ girl in the warmth of the blacksmith stall. Still even more joy surrounded his very soul when in the morning after he awoke just enough to know she was snuggled comfortably into him, he knewhe could hardly wait until he could wake like that everyday. He averted his eyes before Astrid noticed, ashamed for what he had done to her, to himself—even though it's effects in the long run would be positive.

_Hopefully._

This celebration was unofficially for them, he and Brynna—in honor of their engagement, though neither bride nor groom was happy for the union.

He felt a bump at his wrist and saw that Toothless had snuck up to him, being the naturally fine stealthy predator he was. The only consolation Hiccup had now was knowing the night fury still supported him. He could have never wished for a greater companion in all his misfortunes than his dragon. Toothless meant the world to him, but the night fury could not bring him the same happiness Astrid could. Toothless slurped his tongue out and licked the back of Hiccup's hand.

"Heya Bud, whatcha need?" he asked tenderly. He was glad to see his dragon, even though the dragons weren't supposed to be in the festivities for they were too humongous and would knock everything over. Dragons, he had found out were very attracted to music and nothing was more awe-inspiring or troublesome than a zippleback tango. Even the terrible terrors would get underfoot and squeak angrily when their tails were stomped on.

A good smoked eel would break that party up in a jiffy, and it happened often enough that the dragons were now too weary to join the dancing.

Toothless grunted and jerked his head in the direction of Hiccup's lodge. Hiccup sighed with a small dread. Toothless was sent to fetch the russet-haired Viking on behalf of Stoick the Vast.

Hiccup leaned over and nudged Brynna, "I'll be back."

"Where are you going?" he was thrown off at her concern masked as indifference. Usually she wouldn't have said anything to him but perhaps she just didn't want to be left alone with those who despised her.

"Back to my place," he sighed. Brynna did not stay at the Haddock lodge; she was kept by the village elder until their marriage, who tried to teach her the ways of the culture she was about to join. Though Hiccup heard complaints that Brynna was tenacious and was apprehensive to change. She was a Celt—she didn't want to trade her Gods for a new set. Concerning dragons, she had never seen anything like them and so stayed a great distance away from the fire beasts out of fear. He didn't blame her for hating being there. Once again, it was his fault.

Even though it was bad form to leave his own party, unofficial as it was—he doubted the villagers took notice for they were drowning out their woes in dance and had little else to focus on but that resurge of happiness within them.

He made his way up the incline, taking a few breaths. He had tried to make interactions with Stoick as quick as possible so the man didn't have to be reminded of what a troublesome, disobedient son he sired. If Stoick hadn't been in and out of consciousness upon their voyage home, Hiccup was sure there would have been straight week of getting yelled at with the most heated of fury.

He pushed open the door and saw his father in the bed in the middle of the room. Stoick was sitting up in bed, business like—that's all that he had been doing since the weeks of his return between healing: getting on with business—shouting commands at Spitelout to oversee ship damages or Phlegma to count the goods brought back as part of the negotiation. Even in poor form he made sure everything was order. It was all business with Stoick, and Hiccup sensed it was because Stoick was just as adamant on not acknowledging his disappointment of a child.

"Dad," Hiccup spoke quietly though there was no reason to.

"Come here," Stoick sternly requested.

Hiccup took a seat in the contraption he had made for his dad while he healed, and rolled it backward and then forward, scooting toward the bedside. It was a mobile chair that was made from a chair without legs and two round shields that acted as wheels. Stoick could sit in it and go places—his father had trouble walking due to his battle wound.

"Wha—what's on your mind?" Hiccup nervously gulped.

Stoick frowned and took Hiccup's hand, seeing the singe marks of forge-work across his son's wrists, "You should wear your gauntlets when you bend metal."

"I kind of just ignore it," Hiccup shrugged, referring to the marks.

After a moment of considering silence Stoick took in a breath and sighed, letting his son's wrist go and setting back, "Just like you ignore me?"

"I'm not ignoring you!"

"Hiccup, every day you leave at dawn and when I try to have you flagged down you pretend not to see. Spitelout says you have shut yourself out. You can't be doing that anymore son. I've gotten to the point the only way to get you here to speak to me is by way of your dragon."

"Dad, I—" Hiccup tried to make an excuse but his guilt tumbled out of him, he even looked away he was so ashamed at himself. "I shut myself out because I can't stand myself. If I can't then who should? You're hurt, I'm _this_ close to my wedding day—to a girl that loathes me, who shouldn't have to be here. I lost Astrid…" his voice caught and he willed the tightness in his chest to stay coiled and not unwind into a pathetic show of vulnerability in front of the Chieftain.

He felt a huge hand clasp over his shoulder, "Son, you disobeyed me it is true, and my anger was great though I lacked the strength and couldn't punish you—but I've seen you have punished yourself enough." Stoick leaned forward as if he were letting Hiccup in on a secret, "You fail to see that you have finally stepped up into a role you were meant for. You negotiated a truce with a longtime enemy, you forfeited something important to you—those facts alone prove you are up to it."

Hiccup narrowed his eyes and studied his father very carefully, "Up to what?"

"To take my title, to become Chieftain of Berk! You didn't think you would spend all your days at the forge did you? You're of the elite! You're my son and no matter what idiotic or foolish things you have done—you were always to be my predecessor."

Hiccup was struck with momentary awe at his father's words. He _did_ think he was going to work at the stall, bending and melting metal until his bones grew old. Mostly, because he never thought of his father dying, even if the last few weeks were a sure reminder of Stoick's mortality. Stoick would live forever in Hiccup's world—always the massive figure he strived to be good enough for.

"So, you're just handing it over like that?"

"Well you _are_ about to wed. My father gave me the position shortly before my own day of matrimony—the day I would become a man. It's the Haddock tradition. And if my back will heal, I'll be up and to a nice retirement by the end of the season."

Did this mean his dad wasn't mad at him anymore? Or was this maybe a punishment in itself? "Well…erm..._how_ does one go about being a chieftain?" Hiccup didn't know the first thing about caring for a village so how could his dad expect him to just, well—

_Poof! Be the Chieftain! _

If that was the case the village might be in flames by tomorrow evening.

"There'll be time for that later; an official ceremony and whatnot after the wedding. I will teach you but now you should go. Go dance with your betrothed Britta—"

"Brynna," Hiccup corrected with a sigh.

"Yes her, and I tell you son if you are as clever as I suspect you are you can always choose a happiness for yourself." Stoick gave a terse nod at the end of his words with a conclusive _that is that_ and didn't elaborate.

"Thanks, Dad. I promise to try to be as good as you are. I'm sorry though—for everything," Hiccup took a last look before leaving through the entrance.

Stoick's face lifted slightly into a grin, "You'll be even better."

Hiccup shut the door and thought, _Wow, uncle Spitelout's healing medicines must have made Dad loopy_. He'd never thought he'd hear his father say he could be a better Viking. No, wait. Hiccup turned to look at his lodge as if he was gleaning something off of it.

_He meant Cheiftain—he thinks I'd make a better Chieftain, not Viking._

He always figured they were one in the same in Berk, but maybe they weren't. Maybe his actions had affected his life in a positive way. Three years ago his father had accepted him for who he was, two minutes ago Stoick finally_ approved_. His heart lifted slightly at understanding his father had put his hope into Hiccup, even after all the troubles he caused for the man throughout life.

He ambled down the hill with Toothless right behind him. Now, what did the Chief's words mean of Hiccup's cleverness and happiness?

_Happiness_—the word echoed in his mind again, and he felt he was chasing after it but it was so quick to evade him so he was rendered in heap on the ground, breathless from trying to obtain it again. He shook his head, getting rid of that dismal image. _Happiness isn't tangible_. It didn't matter how far he could run or how well he could sword fight—he would never be able to catch what was untouchable.

Toothless stood up on his hind legs and used them for sitting support as he started swaying to the music's beatthat intertwined through the structures from the village circle. A group of lutes were blowing out a happy, upbeat tune. Hiccup lifted his lips to a slight, lopsided grin of amusement.

He reached up and gave a couple good scratches to Toothless's chest without rendering the Night Fury to a state of catatonic elation. Toothless merely '_grurre'd'_ and closed his eyes while continuing to sway.

At least Toothless was happy.

Hiccup looked over his shoulder at the illuminated dancers. Perhaps he should ask Brynna to dance, it might make her feel less of an outsider. He tracked back to where he had been sitting but Brynna was not there. He looked out into the crowd and saw that she was dancing—dancing with his cousin. For the first time since they had returned he saw that she was smiling.

So maybe they were accepting her. That was good. He thought back to that morning of horror in the Celtic fortress when he had agreed to the last condition of peace by the Lord. He had thought the Lord wanted him to marry his daughter, he assumed it because he was the one clearly in charge, with the dragon, and making the negotiations but a little part of him was nagging, urging him to remember Svenan Hofferson's precise translation.

"_..wed to a Viking of the elite blood_."

The Viking elite were the prestigious families—of the most heritage, of the most respect. They formed the top of the hierarchy within any village's structure. They were the leaders, and the greater warriors. The wise ones.

Even though he didn't seem wise nor a great warrior, Hiccup _was_ part of the elite. He looked up at the dancers once more studying the smile on Brynna—_and so is 'Lout_.

An idea hit him so suddenly he was alarmed at himself. Perhaps it was even clever and maybe, just _maybe_ it was clever enough for Hiccup to be able to choose his own happiness, and maybe not just for his own ends either. Finally after so many weeks of a stone straight face, stuck in a life he no longer wanted—he felt his lips part over his compressed teeth.


	2. Wandering in Circles

The breeze flitted through open windows into the smoking parlor causing a nice relief from the heat that had been settling on the two women inside. Though Ruffnut hardly felt that relief as she stared begrudgingly at the needle in her fingers while perspiration glossed over her brow.

"Mo_ther_, I really hate this."

Her mother shushed her immediately, "Well what do you expect? You refuse to go back to being that of a warrior. You're not part of the elite so you must take up a craft. Either that or go get a husband dear, it's not that hard."

Ruff rolled her eyes, it _was_ hard—not that she knew because she hadn't actively_ tried_. Her reputation was to blame for it but she had gotten over the fact men just didn't take interest to her obnoxious, spiteful behavior. Though, ever since she had returned from _Ireland_, the name her idiot brother had bestowed upon the Southern Islands—she was filled with a depression. She no longer had anything to strive for. She couldn't be content with the thought of killing anymore. She often had bad dreams, images involving that child she had saved and she would have never known if she had slain their father. She had no doubt done to them what they had done to her—leave them fatherless. It slowly severed the thread of her being day by day but if there had been a craft of hiding one's true emotions, Ruffnut would have been the master. She could pave over every little bit of herself that she found emotionally dislikable or undesired with a common scowl and sneer.

"That Ingerman boy seemed content with you for a few weeks."

She accidentally pinpricked her finger in alarm, "OW! Mo_ther_!" She put her fingertip to her lips to rid it of the speck of blood. Between it she mumbled, "It wasn't like that! We only played games in his parents' basement."

Her mother's smile widened slyly and suggestively which only made Ruff glower and change the subject. "Can I _go_ now?"

"Hush now Ruffnut, learn to be patient. Give me ten stitches without stabbing yourself and you shall be free the rest of the afternoon from threads."

Ruffnut made sure her mother was not looking before she silently mimicked her.

"Bahaha, Ruffles is sewing!" Tuffnut entered the room and immediately taunted her. He was on his way out, but to where they didn't know. He rarely bothered to inform them anymore because he didn't think it was his responsibility now that he was a '_man._'

Before she could throw down the fabric and tackle him for his taunt, their mother held up her open hand and snapped her fingers shut with a '_buh ah ah_!" She knew her children like the rise and set of the summer sun.

Ruff settled back to her place reluctantly without drawing blood. Tuffnut gave a small smile of relief, "What's shaking ladies?"

"Are you practicing your pick up lines? Because that was _smooth_," Ruffnut sarcastically bit, masking her insult. Tuff had been very preoccupied with trying to find a girl for himself after the raid, now that he had been in charge of a command. He considered himself prime husband material but so far none of the village girls were taking his bait.

"Don't mind your sister she's frustrated that she has no purpose in life."

"Mo-_ther_!" Ruff glared.

The widow Thorston only cracked a smile, letting her lower lip stay pinched within the top of her teeth. Perhaps the twins horrible taunting was inherited through the womb.

"Mom wants me to find a husband," Ruff explained to Tuff's perplexed face and then returned her glare at the woman across from her, "Not that you'll be getting any _grandchildren_ from me, lady. You'll have to rely on Mr. Smooth here."

Ruff jerked her thumb up and pointed at her brother, who shrugged but puffed up with his ego, trying to prove her wrong.

He let out his breath and shifted his weight, "Oh yeah I almost forgot some of the men were asking about you the other day."

Ruff and her mother flipped a wondrous stare at the male family member.

"What? What do you mean?" she nearly shrieked.

"Well I don't know if you noticed but you have gotten kind of _soft_ since we got back. You're not pushing people out of your way as much and I think the guys aren't afraid of you anymore."

"Who told you that you could _think_? What were they asking about me? _Who _was asking about me?"

He ignored her slight insult at his intelligence, "They were asking my permission to date you or whatever, since I'm the man of the house. They were some of the tavern men—they must have been asking in jest or they were just like, _intoxicated_ beyond reason."

"And what did _you_ say?" She ignored his underhanded insult, much too concerned on his words, which was a first.

"Nothin'," he replied immediately but then a thought seemed to enter his head, "Well I did end up punching one of them for talking vulgar. I figured I'd tell you first and see where it went from there. I don't get the whole dating business."

"That's because you never get dates."

They met each other's eyes with identical scowls.

Since he was feeling high and mighty at the moment he merely took in a breath that told her he wouldn't bother with fighting as if he was _too good_ for it. It was a laughable gesture at best.

They both could hear their mother chuckling under her breath, vastly amused. The woman needed to get out more. Linens had become her life.

"Anyhoo, if you'll have any of those desperate takers let me know. They'll want an answer soon," He picked an invisible piece of lint off his mossy green vest and left them.

Ruff was in shock, which grew to infuriation. Those cowards didn't know her at all but yet they were just presuming they could court her? The outrage! She'd show them—she'd scare them all back into their state of mind that Ruffnut Thorston was more frightening and dangerous than a Whispering Death.

Had the change in her been so noticeable? Word must have gotten around that she withdrew her self from being a warrior, and it was true she had slightly lessened her show of violence in public. She called the men interested in her cowards because they didn't ask Ruff herself if she wanted to date them and instead used her brother as a liaison. So what if it was tradition to get permission first?

Astrid's brother never asked for permission before he tried sweet-talking her.

Her thoughts darkened on that man. She didn't know why she hadn't told anyone of Sven's treachery yet, of how he had betrayed the Vikings by warning the Celtics when and where the Vikings would attack that previous Spring. Well, maybe it was because he was one of the smoothest talkers ever to grace Berk's presence, and also he was a double traitor. His staying in Ireland proved that he thought she would tell the people anyway and his rear was safe there—he had his Celtic buddies to protect him, as they didn't know his betrayals went two ways. Curse the day Svenan Hofferson was born. She might have lost her will to kill but the thought of her fingers pressing the air out of his throat if only for a few moments was delightful.

Angry man thoughts turned back to those wanting to court her so suddenly because they no longer felt threatened. Oh, she would show them.

But now she had to get at least ten stitches through the breeches she was helping to mend without stabbing herself.

Ten stitches seemed like ten hours. She couldn't kill, she couldn't sew, and she was pretty much useless to herself and everyone. Still, not letting that fact depress her even more she jumped up and was prepared to show the men that she was not about to comply to their sudden desires to make her their sweetheart–or_ 'wooing_' as they sometimes called it. Blech, that word caused her to stick her tongue out in revulsion.

She wanted to take the Zippleback to put that extra bit of threat and fright into their hearts but once outside she found the Zippleback was gone. Tuff must have flown off with them, that selfish cad. She grumbled but straightened herself and began to stomp forth to the tavern.

She arrived at the modest wooden structure and threw open the door, her braids airborne as she shook her head and spat, "Go find someone _else_ to carry your offspring!"

With that, she turned on her heel and made her way to go find better things to do on a hot afternoon. Nothing was quite like a random bellow to ease her mood. Though her shouts were not illogical, she reasoned that the men asking for her—they who didn't even know her—wanted to be with her now she was slightly tolerable because they only liked her for her breed.

She nearly crashed into Fishlegs who was on his way inside.

"Oh, hi!" He glanced down at her nervously without apologizing for standing too close. Ye Gods he was a giant, his form encompassed her entire vision. She stepped back to get all of him in view. She hadn't seen him for a while, not since they had returned. Her mother had kept her indoors, busy with sewing endeavors and Fishlegs was much too polite to come over begging for her to play his dice game. Though when they were on the boats the voyage back home, he annoyingly, _constantly_ tried analyzing her as if she were one of his made up _Dens and Dwarves_ creatures. She knew by the way he stared at her the whole time.

He was staring at her now but in started sort of way, and she saw he must have so far been having a good summer _not_ in the depths of his parent's basement for his locks of hair were bright and sun-kissed.

"I don't suppose _you_ want me to carry your offspring too?" She blurted, still in a bad mood with men.

His skin turned a deep shade of crimson. She rolled her eyes, poor sheltered Fish. She cracked her famous snarled grin and threw her hands up to his shoulders and gave him a slight push backwards so she could move past him. "Just kidding! Gods you looked ready to hurl. Good. Babies make me want to hurl."

She left him standing there with a perplexed expression.

She passed the path to the drinking spring, and the inner market plus most of the craft stalls, waiting to stumble upon something interesting. The sun was torrid, and she ended up discarding her cropped vest and carrying it, exposing her own pale shoulders to the sunlight.

A pair of village children ran up the path, squealing and giggling whilst chasing each other. She couldn't help but to grin, remembering her and Tuffnut had done that years ago, however it was much more violent and included tackling and in some instances, biting. They ran around her knees, not paying mind to her.

Her smile faded—she was not threatening her mother earlier by denying her grandchildren. She knew she would never be able to enjoy a child for even if she produced one she wouldn't live long enough to hold it. Her hands slid down and pressed against her narrow hips to only further be reminded of her lackluster birthing body. She was safe from children for now at least and would be forever if she could permanently be a nuisance to the men around her. She began to walk again, listening to the dwindling sounds of young laughter. She was pondering what else she could do to frighten the tavern men when she was accosted from the side.

"Why were you talking about babies?" The burly blonde asked while falling along next to her in step. There still was a perplexity in his tone. She got a few chills just at the fact he was asking when it had just moments ago been on her mind, as if he was reading her thoughts.

"Don't you have some ale to drink or something?" She asked, shrugging him off also with a red flushing her cheeks.

"I did, and in that time you managed to wander in two circles through the village."

She stopped and looked around. _Heh so that's why it seems familiar_. She looked at him and frowned at his initial question.

"What do you care about babies?"

"Is it a crime to be curious?"

"Didn't you ever hear that curiosity killed the wildcat?"

His two front teeth bit his lip, must have realizing that he shouldn't push it with her. "Did you shout it because they want to court you?"

"You knew about it too?" She suddenly punched him, but of course it didn't hurt. She lifted her frown at his sudden melancholy expression, figuring he had walked right in at the moment the other men would have been talking of her outburst. He only nodded timidly.

She turned around and started walking backwards, casually shrugging—"That's what men really want out of a girl right? They want sons so they can pass their family name."

"Uh, aren't you forgetting the love part?"

She twisted her face, "_Love?_ You and I both know it is a rare marriage that involves _love_ around here. Look at poor Hiccup—he and his lady don't _love_ each other but yet they're gonna get married."

Speaking of Brynna, that lass had at first grown annoyingly friendly toward Ruffnut because Ruffnut was the only face she recognized from before the end of the raid. They had once the unfortunate pleasure of dining together. It was a chance meeting and Ruff had been shocked that Hiccup was now betrothed to her. It was all Svenan's fault for their acquaintance and Ruff had to be the one to explain to Brynna that Svenan had lied about being Ruff's husband and that Svenan was a notorious ladies man and if he had shown Brynna any of his attentions it was meant to be temporary. After that, Brynna became surly and Ruff suspected that the lass no longer carried a flame for the elder Hofferson. The man was truly vile, and she hated him for making her realize that the Celts were people too when she would have been content otherwise—she would still be a warrior.

Even though it was bad to be seen near the Celtic tart around the Village, Ruff couldn't spurn her completely as she felt akin to Brynna in the fact that they knew what it was like to be trapped in a strange place they couldn't relate to the people around them and who only wished them ill omen.

"Ruff?" Fishlegs spoke her name, and had been for a few moments as she had blanked out thinking of the undesirable circumstances. She really was walking in circles for she counted a third time crossing in front of the metal polishing stall.

"Don't you have a book to read?"

He only frowned slightly at her obnoxiousness in reply. Good, at least Fishlegs had the sense not to be taken with her.

She held her own frown but inwardly chided herself for being mean to him—after all it was he who tried to take care of her when she had been injured. The pain of shoulder dislocation had long since ebbed but she couldn't remember much about the pains and the blood of the raid, mostly because she had blocked it out and the only conciseness of it came to her in her dreams. She glanced at him quickly; she would never admit it to him but he had appeared in her dreams many times, always with a kind and concerned disposition and that was the only comfort she felt while asleep. Those images of Fishlegs.

She noticed they were nearing the tavern again but some of then men were just leaving and laughing merrily. An idea struck her that would solve her problems. She ran over to a berry bush in front of the village elder's lodge, yanked a few red berries off their stems and rushed back to Fishlegs—forcefully crashing them into his face so sticky red berry juice splattered all over his skin.

"Hey!" he shouted in a whine—becoming very cross. She grabbed him by his beard but not hard enough to hurt him and made him crunch over a few inches to face her.

"Please just go along with this and I'll do you any favor. I'm gonna hit you and you pretend it really hurt. The jaw area okay? Go."

She let him up and then hauled back and punched him in his chin but restrained her strength even though he was like leather—incredibly tough. He made a garbled sound and yelled, holding his face. He was so good at acting that she almost believed she had hurt him.

They heard gasps and they saw the men from the tavern stare in awe at what they thought to have witnessed of her bloodying a berserker of all beings. She had berry juice on her fingers that looked enough like blood and so it could be proven even by anyone not watching she had beat the stuffing out of his face. Good, that's exactly what she wanted them to think—to be afraid of her, to repel them. Now they would surely spread the word. _No babies_.

They scurried off, not intervening to let Fishlegs deal with the situation himself. She always took them for cowards. Ruff started laughing when they were good and gone while licking the berry juice off her fingers. Fish stuck out his tongue and tasted the flecks of juice that had spattered on his chin.

"Awesome. Thanks," she flipped her hair, and meant to continue her path of afternoon wandering.

"Wait just a minute…" she heard him say, though that edge of nervousness still touched his tongue.

She didn't understand how such a big guy could always be so skittish. Nothing could really hurt him. She swiveled around to remind herself—yes—he was at least the height of two stacked ale drums. His voice used to sound like a constant crackling between boy and man but she had noticed that it had grown deeper than any other boy's voice of their generation.

"Whaddya want?" she crossed her arms impatiently, though she had no pressing matters to attend to.

"You said you'd do me any favor," he threw his arms behind his back timidly.

"Oh. Yeah. Well what do you want—me to do your chores or something?"

"I want to...escort you to the celebration at week's end."

Ruff's eyebrows rose, trying to understand what he was asking of her. She remembered there was supposed to be a dance and festivities to celebrate the good growing season, and on a lesser scale the engagement of Hiccup and his bride. Fish wanted to take her to it?

"Like a date?" She choked in a tone of mixed disgust and surprise, didn't she _just _spend her afternoon trying to get rid of all those intentions within men?

"Well, yes—_but_—" he stammered unintelligently before, unexpectedly giving an assured smile, "By having me escort you, it will for sure keep all those tavern men from trying to court you. They'll think you're taken."

Ruff pondered the logic, and the more she thought about it the more she really liked the deceitful idea. She punched him in the arm, "Way to think 'Legs, I didn't know you could be so tricky!"

She accidentally transferred some of the sticky berry juice from her knuckles to his arm, "Eugh, you'd better go wash or something. If anyone asks, tell them I knocked your daylights out."

He merely nodded and headed back toward his lodge, keeping his small grin.

_It won't be so bad_, she told herself. She could handle pretending to take an interest in Fishlegs despite his awkwardness and intelligence which was as far opposite as Ruffnut a Viking could get. Would everyone believe it? She felt glee in knowing she was scamming her way out of a real courtship. She threw a glance over her shoulder at Fishlegs's form—it growing smaller as he walked further and further away.

Really, it _wouldn't_ be so bad because unlike those other men, Fishlegs actually _knew_ her, even if it was only to the extent of her favorite type of dwarf character to play in his dice game.

If she were interested in a _real_ courtship, she might actually consider him a worthy candidate. After a second thought of that, she busted out giggling as she passed the path to the spring for the third time, presuming the heat of the sun had finally gotten to her.

xXx

**A/N**: _Boop. _Writing this made me grin incessantly. Oh, and while we're on a Ruff and Fishlegs subject - if you haven't followed my HTTYD fanart link in my profile [the third] yet, it'll take you to a reeeaaaallly cute pair of RuffxFish fanarts I drew on vacation :D


	3. A Whole Lot of Abnormal

It was pitch dark outside—hardly romantic and hardly safe as Fishlegs carefully walked himself across the rocks above the diving well.

_How oh how did I get myself into this position?_ He thought, hearing small rocks shift underneath his feet and drop a long fall before the echoing splashing noise resonated below.

"Come on, you're like the slowest lug in the world!" he heard the biting voice of the unseen girl that had been his date for the night. She was ahead of him by some way.

_Oh yes, that's why we're six inches from death—Ruff_, he answered his initial question, knowing he hadn't forgotten but not wanting to admit he had overwhelmingly underestimated her need for thrill. He had thought she had calmed down since spring but now knew she only had lost her will to kill, nothing else. She still was consumed with the half-crazed notion she _had_ to be daring and dangerous.

Considering his life and the near future he had to what he calculated at being a few more minutes tops, stopped and reflected upon his life—and that day which should have been an omen in itself to never have taken Ruffnut Thorston out—even if she only agreed to a false courtship in order to ward off men.

It had been quite an abnormal day thus far.

_ His mother was baking bread, which just rarely ever, if at all, happened._

"_Where is Dad?" Fishlegs wondered, stepping into the kitchen. _

_Fishlegs's father was the undisputed baker in the house, one of the 'bread-making' Vikings among their village niches, and he was damn good at it too. Fish shuddered thinking of his mother making bread, she was the village's chandler and her hands were usually soaked in the animal fat she used to set candles to shape. He hoped she had washed them before preparing dough._

"_He went to the tavern."_

_That was abnormal because Mr. Ingerman, like Fishlegs didn't really prefer the taste of stout and plus it was mid morning—__**who**__ drank that early?_

_Fishlegs only gave his mother a sidelong glance of hesitance but she hardly noticed as she concentrated on kneading the dough. She looked like she'd rather be in the basement setting candles but the family needed their daily bread and what in the seven worlds had compelled his father to go to the tavern so early when the man hardly drank?_

_Fishlegs was rightly befuddled._

_Before he left to investigate, his mother armed him with a small basket of finished candlesticks._

"_Take those to the widow Thorston, she ordered for them nearly a week ago—it's a whole three months supply."_

_A nervousness hit him right in the gut at the reveal of the location. He had surprisingly conned the same lady's daughter into letting him take her to the celebration that evening but had not seen hide or hair of the blonde since earlier in the week. _

_He had arrived home that day after asking her, covered in red berry juice—by her fault—and nearly made his mother faint at thinking it was blood upon first sight. So his curiosity of his father had to stay on hold until he was done acting as delivery boy—a task he had done before on numerous occasions. He swung the basket over his shoulder easily and headed toward the Thorston lodge but not without eyeing the passed out Gronkle in his front yard. She wouldn't be awake this hour anyway, and he could have used Horrorcow's company. He shook his head and left the slumbering dragon. With every step toward the Thorston lodge he became more skittish._

_Why should I be afraid? He chided himself—She's __**only **__Ruffnut._

_Yes, but the phrase '__**only Ruffnut**__' in itself held somewhat dangerous connotations._

_His fear boiled down to having her know what he really thought of her and then being rejected for it. He was pathetically, completely in love with the girl—but couldn't explain the reasons even to himself. All he knew was there was this lighter-than-air kind of feeling that engulfed him when he saw her that often rendered him a bumbling mess. It was a most frightful yet recent development in his life. He often asked himself if he wanted a short life, knowing who he was in love with._

_He arrived in front of their door and gave it a timid knock._

_The widow Thorston answered after a moment and at the sight of him donned a pleasant smile._

"_Hello young man, to what do I owe this visit?"_

"_Candles for you madam," he lifted the basket to her, barely peeking in the door to what was behind the widow Thorston. It was something abnormal—Ruffnut in a dress. From what he saw those few seconds she was in a sort of gown and had her back turned and her arms out standing on something so she was elevated. The lady abruptly thanked him, took the basket, and shut the door on him. He stood there for a moment with one brow raised, trying to make sense of what he saw._

_He slowly turned around and headed toward the tavern to find out why his father was there. There were not that many Vikings lining the tavern bar when he entered—only his father, the village drunks, and…Tuffnut. Was Tuffnut becoming one of the village drunks? The lad had his head on the surface of the bar and looked like he had fallen asleep._

_He saw his father was not drinking but discussing news with the tavern-keeper. Fish took a seat next to Tuff and nudged him._

"_It's a little early to hit the ale isn't it?"_

_The blonde's head lifted from its place, planted on the bar-top. The twin squinted, "It's __**early**__?"_

_Tuffnut must have hit the tankard hard last night. He lifted his arm and swiped his hand over his face, "It's the __**next day**__?"_

_**Really**__ hard._

_Fish nodded and Tuffnut groaned, "That wench! She left me here all night!"_

_Fishlegs was utterly confused to how Tuffnut had stayed the whole night in the tavern if it was closed up but realized the 'wench' in question was the tavern-keeper's daughter—an unfortunate girl he never remembered the name of for she was a few years younger than he. _

_The busty girl twirled by behind the counter with mugs of ale in her hands, she gave Fishlegs a smile and then a quick look of contempt to the young Viking next to him. _

"_Hell-o Fishlegs," she smiled and set a tankard in front of him, then noticed a glaring, red-eyed Tuff, "Hi."_

"_You left me here!"_

"_You passed out!" _

"_I can see why!" _

"_That's not what you said last night!"_

"_Because I was intoxicated!"_

_Fish looked on helplessly as Tuffnut insulted her and she only shouted back. Now Fish would never call a Viking woman undesirable to her face but it was true of the tavern-keeper's daughter. She had moles on her face, was missing a few teeth but that didn't mean she wasn't a nice girl to be around._

"_Get OUT, you son of a troll!" she shouted, yanked Fishlegs's mug out from in front of him and sloshed the contents into Tuff's face._

_Or maybe not._

_Tuff stood up wiping at himself, the lad smelled awful and was heated to a fury. "Gladly," he took a look at her and shuddered, "Let's go Fishy."_

_Fishlegs grinded his teeth, hating the nickname that was prominent to be addressed as while his friends were under the influence._

_The tavern-keeper's daughter clamped her hand down onto Fishlegs's and glared at Tuffnut. _

"_He can't go anywhere, he's __**mine**__."_

"_WHAT?" both males threw open their eyes and couldn't help to let their jaw drop at her declaration._

"_Didn't you know? My Daddy is in the talks with yours about a courtship." She smiled and he saw all her teeth, well—not __**all **__of them._

"_Úh…Dad?" he felt his voice crack. Tuff wasn't even laughing but only gave Fishlegs a look of sympathy._

"_Son, what are you doing here?"_

_Apparently her racket hadn't caused either man to look up form their conversation._

"_What's going on?"_

"_Oh, the tavern-master here asked me to meet with him—he has a proposition," his father nodded nonchalantly, not disclosing the most vital of information. Apparently considering bargaining off your son for unlimited ale was no big deal in these parts. But why ale? The man didn't drink it! Fishlegs's brain heatedly thought to why his dad would consider it—ale bread. Yes, His father had invented ale bread, a bread wildly popular among Berk that only the senior Ingerman knew the secret recipe of. Ale—ale in the dough. Simple, but no one had picked up on it yet. His eyes crept back onto the 'proposition' that was grinning and batting her eyelashes like a common tart._

"_Sorry but I __**already**__ am courting someone," he said loud enough to make sure everyone heard, especially his father but it was aimed at the busty lass. He was not going down in flames for ale bread._

_She pouted her bottom lip in monumental disappointment but then perked up at seeing another male Viking enter the structure in want of some ale. She must have gotten over her losses quickly._

"_Dude, really? WHO?" Tuffnut slapped a hand over Fishlegs's shoulder. There was Tuff being nosey, maybe Fishlegs could just walk away. It's not like Tuff would remember at this point in the morning._

"_Yes, who?" his father stepped beside him, concerned. Fishlegs had not told anyone about his plan to take Ruff to the celebration, and apparently neither did she._

_He took in a breath and then sighed, "Ruffnut Thorston."_

_He felt the grip on his shoulder clench tightly and turned his head slightly to see Tuff's face of wonder had turned to that of severely put off. His father's face was not surprised but only because Ruff had often showed up at the Ingerman's lodge to join in Fishlegs's role-playing dice game._

_He felt a hard fist-punch to his pectoral muscle; he winced out of habit although it only mildly hurt._

"_I can't believe you! You've been digging on my sister and you didn't even have the courtesy or courage to ask me if you could!"_

"_Sorry Tuff, it just sort of—happened."_

"_Yeah well as it sort of—__**happens**__, you're not allowed to see __**her **__anymore."_

_Fishlegs had no idea how Tuffnut would enforce that, even if he was the head of the house since their father had passed away a decade ago. Tuff stalked off, worlds of upset and ale in him. Or maybe he was only upset he had ale in him, or maybe the ale made him upset in general._

_Fish sighed and felt his dad pat him on the shoulder, "Well I suppose we could have wrangled some good linens from that sort of alliance, you know if you would have asked permission from young Thorston proper-like"_

_Fishlegs rolled his eyes, his father—always the opportunist._

_So now what? He glanced over at the former 'proposition' who was leaning over the countertop and grinning ear to ear at the next man she took an interest in. She must have been completely done pining over Fishlegs, which was for certain. _

_He probably should have told Ruffnut the date was off but he had a feeling Tuffnut would try to fight him if he showed back on the Thorstons' doorstep._

_So he went back home, he had some reading to catch up on anyway_

_Right after dinner, while it was still daylight—there were multiple abrupt knockings on his front door. He curiously answered it._

"_So you think you can stand me up ey?"_

"_What? NO—you're __**brother**_—_" he was already rendered a bumbling mess as he looked upon her. She __**was **__wearing a dress! Her hair was braided across her head and the remainder of it was loose and thrown over one shoulder. She was stunning, and then it dawned on him she might have actually made herself presentable for him. He involuntarily blushed._

"_Yeah, yeah by idiot brother had the nerve to __**forbid**__ me from going out tonight. Well, screw that—we're going."_

"_You will be in so much trouble," Fishlegs warned as she grabbed his hand. He wasn't even nicely dressed. He looked so completely slovenly compared to her and that __**never **__happened._

"_If I get caught, I'm taking you down with me Fishy."_

_He wondered if Ruffnut also had taken a few nips of mead before wandering over to drag him out. She pulled him along by his hand toward the village circle where they could hear some music, the early music. Sundown was coming close as apparent by the dark blue shading the upper sky and the bright orange as a sliver on the horizon._

"_You look very nice," he complimented._

"_Oh yeah, this dress. Mom started making it for me as soon as I told her I was going to this thing. She like just __**stopped**__ working on everything else and made this her first priority."_

_Fishlegs liked the dress, it was a lighter color than her usual dark blues and browns and frayed stitches, it made her seem more…well…soft, ethereal. They saw the bride nor groom the celebration was unofficially for had even arrived yet. Someone had to probably go pry Hiccup from the blacksmith's anvil; there was no doubt that lad was terrified of being wed to a complete stranger. The bride in question, Brynna, was pretty but usually kept to herself though he had spotted her walking through the market while Snotlout carried her baskets for her. They at least talked._

_Ruffnut pulled him into the crowd of dancers and he took a gulp as his hands set on the waist of her lithe form. They spun and performed the footwork required of such a lively dance. Ruff was smiling, her eyes wide as she threw up her arms so he could pick her up and spin her, which was easy and seemed like it could have been the most natural thing in the world to him. He set her down and they finished off the dance._

_He saw from the remaining light of day that the men of the village looked curiously at Ruffnut but also that other look males got about them at ladies was evident in their expressions. Fishlegs felt a fierce possessiveness embrace him and he slid his arm around her shoulders and brought her in closer._

"_What?" she sternly asked, also looking around but saw what he saw and smiled, "Oh yeah, good thinking—this'll keep them away from me."_

_He hoped they would stay away forever._

"_So where did you learn to dance? I didn't think you knew how," Fishlegs asked._

_She frowned, "I practice," and gave nothing more. Instead her eyes darted over his shoulder and widened further. She crunched herself up into his side to hide behind him._

"_What?"_

"_Shh! Tuff is over there!" she hissed._

"_What are we going to do?"_

_She smiled shrewdly, "We're making a break for it." She grabbed his wrist and at the same moment she popped up and dashed forward and he could only follow or else be confronted by an angry Tuffnut._

_They weaved through the crowd and if Tuffnut had spotted them, there was no way he could catch up to them, as the mass of villagers was pretty dense. Even Fish had trouble squeezing through. They ran and ran, past the village's edge, past the drinking spring even. Ruff finally let go of him and leaned against a tree laughing in triumph while trying to catch her breath and stop her racing heart._

"_What a butt-elf, I hope that tavern girl finds him and makes him dance with her."_

_Fishlegs actually laughed heartily, being reminded of earlier that day.  
_

"_Where are we?" He couldn't see squat._

"_Near the diving well I think."_

Yes, the _diving well_. Instead of going somewhere else, maybe the Long Beach or the many points of the island, or the bay or the cove—Ruff wanted to go climbing on the cliff face above the diving well in the dark.

"Why are we up here?" he demanded, maybe for the fifth time—she had ignored his previous inquiries the whole time. He didn't want her to hurt herself.

"Learn to have a little spontaneity for once will ya?" She retorted, still managing to evade answering the question.

He let a deep grumble-sigh escape his lips and then felt a soft pressure hit him in the side of his head. He stumbled but managed not to fall, grappling at what had attacked him. It was smooth material—it was her _dress_. He sucked in his bottom lip with sheer panic, his mind scrambling of what to say, what to do but then his chest plummeted at hearing Ruff scream—it echoing as it descended and abruptly silenced with a splash.

He threw the dress to the side and without thinking of how dangerous not to mention crazy his next action would be, he dove off the cliff after her. Wind tore at his face and he closed his eyes tightly as his stomach was pitched into his head causing him to be dizzy but he was still focused on the thought that he had to save her. Though, knowing her, she never wanted to be saved in any way, shape, or form.

He hit the water with a humongous splash and pumped his arms upward through the water to surface. The water temperature was mild, as it had the warm summer air soak into it all season.

He made his was to where he could reach the silt floor at the bottom of the diving well, and all the while calling, "_RUFF_—_Ruffnut_?"

No answer, he felt a severe stab to his heart—ten times worse than when he had thought she died while in the spring battle.

"I'm over here you big sour grape," After a few panic-stricken moments he heard it from behind him. It was said with a hint of amused laughter in her voice and all before he could go into cardiac arrest. It sounded like she was treading the water.

He was furious. She had already died once to him all the way back in Ireland, and he horrifyingly thought it happened again. What a cruel girl, although she _didn't_ know how badly affected he was before so it was now just all a joke to her. He usually was not one to let his temper flare but he twisted around and reached behind him to find one of her arms to pull her forward. She flailed and protested but instead of yelling or shaking her or calling her a bad name he did the one thing he knew that would get her back for scaring him so deeply. One thing that he had wanted and wondered about for months.

He leaned forward and kissed her.

How was that for spontaneity?

But she didn't fight him.

She kissed him back.

It was abnormal.

But still the best thing that had happened to him all day.

_**xXx**_

**A/N**: _I guess this is the part deux of my grinning incessantly. Hope you've had your fill of this RxF mild humor fluff because it might not be coming back around until next season :P_

_Oh and I drew more pictures. You get visuals of Sven and Brynna this time._


	4. The Cheese Stands Alone

"So, what do you want to do today?"

Tuffnut was leaning back on the bench so the whole thing tipped in his balance.

"We could go fishing," Snotlout offered from across the table.

"Everyone will be fishing though."

"That's what happens when the weather is nice."

Tuff tipped the bench back to its original position and put his elbows on the tabletop, "We could go hunting?"

"Yeah, I'd be up for that," his best friend agreed, shrugging a shoulder. "I'm tired of the Mead Hall; it's too dank in here."

"I hear you bro," Tuff hopped up but made sure to puff his chest out as one of the village girls passed.

She didn't notice at all.

_It must be dark in here or something_ he thought with concern.

His thoughts were broken by Snotlout's guffaws, "Oh dude you repel the girls as much as a green death."

Tuffnut stopped his path forward abruptly, only responding with a hard punch to 'Lout's upper arm.

"Man, okay something that's always confused me about that—why do some of the warriors refer to it as _green_ death and others call it the _red_ death? It was mostly green, where was the red in it?"

Tuff did prefer to call it _green_, just like he preferred to call the Southern Islands, _Ireland_.

"It had red barnacles or something on its hide, trust me I saw it up close and personal when you left me on top of it," Snotlout rubbed his arm.

"So, it's a matter of preference?"

"Yeah I guess so."

He wondered why the village girls didn't _prefer_ him. He tried to catch their attentions but none seemed to like him very much. He would try to hit on them but for some reason he lacked the grace of smooth gentleman.

He heard a small clatter and looked over his shoulder, reminded of what he had tried to ignore the whole time he had been there. Ruffnut had just rolled a pair of dice. She was playing that dorky _Dens & Dragons _or_ Dungeons & Dwarves_ game that Fishlegs always tried getting everyone to play. It only seemed cool though when everyone was intoxicated.

Tuff still held a grumble under his breath at the thought of her and Fishlegs together. She was like, his _sister_—she was never supposed to be _involved_ with men. He had been angry for hours at the new development, at her for keeping it from him and at Fishlegs for not even asking for permission. He even forbid his sister from going out.

She went out.

She went out with _the berserker_ and Tuff would have scolded and beat some obedience into her if she hadn't shown up later that evening, soaking wet with nothing but an oversized Tunic and beat him to the punch—literally.

They fought furiously but in the end Ruff held him down, a vicious grip on his hair and proclaimed with the utmost fervor that she _would_ be allowed to see Fishlegs or else she would rip all his hair out of his scalp. He agreed, though most of it came from the strain on his skull and his concern for his hair.

And maybe it wasn't just a protective thing that had him so riled about it—maybe it was because he didn't think it fair for her to have someone if he didn't. He was perhaps even _jealous_ that the one known un-datable girl in Berk had someone to date while he, the village's most _eligible bachelor_ was still alone.

The bar wench didn't count either. That was a night of mistakes and afterward Tuff decided to take it easy on how much ale he consumed.

He was suddenly very curious to something perhaps his sister could shed light on.

"Hey Ruff!" He called over to her obnoxiously, "Ruffy!"

"What?" there was en extra grumpy growl in her voice.

"You're a _girl_ right?"

"Sure," she wasn't even looking at him, just studying the table top where there were ale mugs and candlesticks positioned about as a 'map' for the game.

"So what do girls look for in guys?"

That question got her to turn a suspicious eye on him, which also caused her to smile menacingly, "What? Like for example, _you_? You're a lost cause _brother dear_—no girl will go near you."

"Why not?" Tuff was taken aback, and also his instinct wanted to punch her good one for the insult but Fishlegs was right there and Fish was a lot bigger than Tuff. He probably wouldn't appreciate someone beating up his girlfriend no matter how wenchy she acted and deserved it. He crunched his fist into a ball instead, and let it dangle at his side.

"Uh, for starters, learn to bathe more often."

Well so much for the insight she provided into a girl's psyche. She was obviously biased.

"Whatever, come on 'Lout—lets go hunt."

They opened the doors to the bright light of summer. The mead hall was a nice, cool place to escape the hot sun as it was in carved from the inside of a rock, but two young men couldn't ignore the pull of the summer outside no matter how hot the temperature.

Tuff's weapon of choice was a mace but knew that would do nothing in helping him down a wild boar or cliff goat. He nodded to Snotlout, signaling for him to meet at their regular spot to begin the hunt—a grove of twisted trees that looked like a Timberjack if you squinted hard enough.

He thought maybe he could borrow his sister's spear since she was occupied at the moment. He hesitantly opened the door to Ruff's room and grabbed her double-edged spear that was held on the wall. It was a good spear and Ruff had replaced the arrowheads recently so it was prime for hunting.

He nonchalantly whistled as he walked past his mother who was of course, where she always was—sitting in the smoking parlor and stitching.

"Where are you off to my son?" she asked without glancing up.

"UH, _out_."

She then did look up with a single arched brow.

They had been playing this game for some time. He was trying to break out of the responsibility of letting her know where he was going or why. He shouldn't have had to anymore. He was a man.

He coughed, "Yeah _out_, you know like what you should do sometime instead of hiding in here all year and sewing."

She pointed her needle at him, it made him nervous despite the distance apart they were for Ruffnut had to inherit all her wrath from somewhere and he was sure he was looking at it—though it was ten times scarier when it was unleashed full force.

"It is not your business what I do with myself young man, one day I won't be here and you'll regret the day you stopped telling me where you went because you will never get to tell me anything ever again."

He rolled his eyes, mostly to mask the horrible guilt rising in him. The widow Thorston was very good at making her son feel guilty.

"I'm sorry. I'm going hunting if you _must _know."

"Where is your sister? Are you taking her with you?"  
"No, she's out with _Fishlegs_. 'Lout is going with me."

His mother didn't comment on his tone of hostility and only grinned at the mention of Fishlegs and Ruffnut. However, at the mention of Snotlout it was her turn to roll her eyes. She had seen those boys get into plenty of mischief together over the years and sometimes claimed the younger Jorgenson was a bad influence on her son.

Though her disapproval was unspoken, he knew she couldn't stop him from leaving. So with that, he mumbled a 'goodbye' and finally left without any more banter.

He looked up across the lodges and saw all the dragons sunbathing, even spotted him and his sister's zippleback in the distance, hissing and growling and fighting over the better position in the sun. The dragons loved warmth and he wasn't going to bother with the zippleback while it was fighting with itself. He kept on his path to the meeting place.

Tuff waited for nearly a half hour for his best friend to show at the grove of dragon-esque shaped trees but Snotlout did not turn up. Tuff stalked his way back to the village to track the guy down, grumbling under his breath the whole way.

Snotlout was a dirty traitor.

He saw from a distance that Snotlout had been on his way to meet Tuff, but had been terribly distracted by the auburn-haired Celtic lass known to the entire village as the _future Mrs. Hiccup._

"Uh, dude?" Tuff hastily approached from the side and nudged 'Lout in the side with an elbow.

"Ow! _Dude_," Snotlout glared and made a subtle nod toward the girl next to him. Tuff inwardly gagged, not that Hiccup's catch wasn't pretty—she was beautiful but she was just fundamentally and all around untouchable. She was a _Celt_, and no less Hiccup's own bride-to-be he had finagled from a negotiation.

Though there had yet to be an actual wedding.

Still, Snotlout shouldn't have been in any way or form _flirting_ or attempting to come on to her no matter how pretty she was.

He knew Snotlout loved one-upping his cousin, especially since the battle of the Green Death, but this was a little too far in his opinion.

"Hunting, _remember_?" Tuff threw in an obnoxious whine on the last word.

The Celt looked just about as annoyed as the glare Snotlout was shooting him with.

It was ridiculous to think it but maybe those two _would_ make a better couple. Though he scowled thinking if that could even possibly happen—he would lose both his sister and his best friend to other people. He didn't want to be the one who ended up alone.

"Yeah, uh—we can do it later. Besides, dusk is when the deers are more prominent—"

So that was how it was? His own best friend blowing him off for a girl that he couldn't even have in the first place? 'Lout and the Celtic lass left Tuffnut standing in the village pathway.

Alone.

He angrily threw Ruffnut's spear into the ground, wanting to stab something. Maybe he could just go hunting by himself—blow off some steam of a bad day. So with that thought, he stalked off back to the woods.

The brush was actually thick that time of year so he had to cautiously move branches and leaves out of his path or else risk scaring away any game he might want to down.

He was pretty far into the wilderness by the afternoon, managing to strike two rabbits, a fox, and mink at least. He tied them to a line, lopped it and carried it on his shoulder. It was less fun hunting alone; he couldn't brag or impress anyone with his hunting skills.

He was taking a few drinks at a nearby creek when he heard an odd noise. It sounded as a loud '_clack, clack_'. He lifted himself up and curiously made his way toward the noise. His sister's spear readied, just in case an animal could be its cause.

When he swiped back the branches there was not a game animal, nor a dragon but a skinny youth from his village—striking two rocks together and searching around. They looked crazy.

"What in great Asgard are you _doing_?" He blurted in question.

They gave a surprised yelp and dropped one of their rocks, hastily picked it up and faced him with a frown.

"Tuffnut! Be quiet, I'm snipe hunting!"

He outwardly guffawed, first because he had mistaken Hoark's skinny, thirteen-year-old daughter, _Harkin_—as a lad and secondly because she was on a fool's errand. _Snipe hunting_ was something he and Snotlout often told Hiccup to go do when they were that age, of course Hiccup would come back empty handed and then plot for hours on how to actually catch one. It was a story they told to gullible ones that had them looking for hours to try and catch one.

"Why you laughing? You don't think I can do it, can you?" She wiped her hair out of her eye. The rest of her hair was stuffed up into her father's helmet. Her face and clothes were damp with efforts and determination to catch what didn't exist.

"I _know_ you can't do it. Who put you up to this?"

"Munchglob and Rootstain," she murmured.

_Ah, Phlegma's sons_. They wouldn't have put Harkin up to it if they're mother had known. What were they, a season away from entering Viking training? He didn't know much about the Viking youths five years his junior.

"This was a trick, wasn't it?" Harkin scowled, working out his reaction to her endeavor.

"Fast on the uptake there, kid," he grinned.

"I'm going to pummel them _so_ hard!" she declared after throwing down her rocks. She may not have had the build, but she sure did have the attitude of a Viking. She really was Hoark's daughter in that sense.

"I wouldn't advise that," Tuff warned. Phlegma's sons were built; Harkin had yet to grow into herself.

"Well, my dad would show them, he'd—" she stopped speaking abruptly and blinked a couple times, "Never mind."

Tuffnut knew how that felt. It took awhile to get used to not having a father anymore. He was the one who had brought Hoark's helmet back from Ireland to give to his family since the bodies of the fallen had to be left there—the same helmet Harkin wore now.

He remembered her face when he told them what had happened—it was purely masked with indifference but that was only to keep the ongoing crumbling of the girl inside from spilling outward.

"You want me to beat them up for you?" He offered instead, feeling he owed it to the girl. If only he had gotten up that hill sooner during the battle, maybe then she would still have a father.

She shook her head, "Nah, I'll get them back though. I'm gonna tell their mom."

Tuffnut winced, there was a reason their mother was bestowed the title of _Phlegma the Fierce, _and she did not stand for nonsense.

An idea struck him suddenly and he untied his animals from his line, holding them out to her. "Or here, take these back and tell them that instead of snipes you managed to kill all these with your rocks. That way, you can turn them into fools."

She grinned and received them, "Wow, thanks Tuffnut. Do you want them back after I use them to trick the guys?"

He shrugged one shoulder, "Nah, give 'em to your mom—compliments of the Thorston household."

"Cool! You're the best!"

"I know right?" he agreed as she scampered off back toward Berk. _Now if only the women would agree too_.

Now he had to start over on his hunt, and any animal in the vicinity would be long gone due to Harkin's rock-racket. Maybe he really should have gone fishing instead.

He turned around and caught up to the jovial youth. He walked after her, enjoying the shade of the forest from the sun.

"What?"

"_What_?" He shot back, naturally defensive.

"You stalking me?"

"Stalk you? That's a laugh," he grunted teasingly, "No, you scared all the rest of the animals away. Nothing left to do but go home."

"Oh," her voice dropped a notch as he fell into step beside her.

He raised a brow at the disappointment in her tone, "You're a little too young for boys, aren't you?"

"Am not! Even if I was boys are gross and mean—there aren't any _nice _ones to pick from. I think I'm going to be like Astrid Hofferson when I grow up—stay single and fierce." She then proceeded to pantomime throwing an axe, a skill Astrid had come to be known for.

He felt a twinge of melancholy at the girl's words—for the Astrid Hofferson she talked of had checked out of Berk months ago. Astrid was scarce around the village, and seemed engulfed in a crushing heartbreak. Astrid was not single by choice, everyone knew she would much rather be with Hiccup than alone no matter what she said or did. He even offered to dance with her at the Seasonal Celebration a couple of weeks ago to cheer her up—it helped somewhat, at least she had smiled. He would offer to marry the girl if she weren't so torturously in love with Hiccup—it was too obvious and tragic for him to want be involved in it. Plus, she had told him he was '_unsavory'_ one time during dragon training and he still held a grudge about that.

"Why the face?"

"What face?"

"The sad face?"

Harkin was looking up to him curiously, and he realized the tragic thoughts about his friends had visibly shown.

Instead he drew back his lips in a snarl, "If all boys are gross and mean, then all women are crazy and flaky."

"We're not crazy!"

"Are so, none of them will even let me get near them," he crossed his arms, also internally wondering why he was complaining to a thirteen-year-old girl about his girl problems.

_That's what happens when you get blown off by your friends_, he answered, thinking of Snotlout, or the lack thereof.

"Well, um, maybe you should like—bathe?" Harkin grumbled but he caught a flush raise in her cheeks as she looked away.

"Do I really smell that bad?"

"You smell like a regurgitated fish," she answered bluntly.

So Ruffnut wasn't biased! He lifted his arm and took a whiff, not really smelling anything too horrible but if two people claimed it was bad, maybe it was. Or perhaps girls just had more sensitive olfactory senses. Perhaps that was what the whole _'unsavory_' bit was about too.

"Look there's Rootstain and Munchglob!" She chirped excitedly, pointing through the trees where they saw the two boys throwing mud at each other behind the tavern. They had made it back to the village. Tuff had to bend down to get a better look since he was taller and the tree branches blocked his view.

"Thanks again!" she whirled around and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before running down to them, shouting excitedly about her 'kills'.

He was startled she had done such a thing at first but it soon melted to endearment. He promised himself then he would look out for Harkin since her father was gone and she had no older brothers. He didn't want her to end up like Ruff—crazy and flaky, with no male role model.

He then considered the advice both females had given him that day, and convinced himself to go to the bathing spring. He wasn't a frequent visitor, obviously, but was glad he was the only one there. Everyone else must have been fishing or something. He ripped out the tie on his hair and threw off his vest jacket, boots, and breeches.

_It's like swimming, I just have to scrub every so often_, he told himself and entered the pool. Hopefully his lack of personal hygienic sacrifice would be worth it.

**xXx**

**A/N: **

_The summer is so much more lighthearted! Easier to write too, since we're in the season in real time here ;)_

**Art news:** _If you've read 'Sting of Spring', I've been drawing scenes form that story and posting them for those interested :)_


	5. Infection of Affection

It had started out the perfect summer day—warm air, slight breeze, pure sunshine that would freckle all the pale Norse complexions and in years past Astrid would have taken advantage of such an afternoon by going outside—to swim, practice her axe-throwing or lounge in the meadow. However the joy of summer hardly registered with Astrid, for it felt like she'd been living in the shadow of a boy's heart all seasons. She kept telling herself she was a strong woman—and it was stupid to let a boy dictate her moods. Those prompts of pride never lasted for eventually her thoughts, once more would return to thinking of the events that had caused her to be in such a constant foul mood.

Nonetheless, she found herself outside on the bright day but not to enjoy the warmth or do something relaxing, instead she was wringing water from her clothes for she had taken upon herself to do the laundry. She wasn't a fan of doing it but it provided an excuse to get out of the house and away from the foolish men who had come a calling for her attentions once again. Though fewer in number than before, still there was a handful that took interest in her. Maybe they just felt sorry for her, and that caused her to be even angrier—she didn't need their _pity_.

She had been through the tedious process before but instead of having Snotlout as a cover, this time she was perfectly single—a fact that damn nearly delighted all those men of the warrior class who were still interested in a piece of Astrid Hofferson. She was in her prime but knew she could not settle down, not while her heart was shattered. She would make a most stubborn and surly wife at this point.

She heard through the grapevine of village chatterers that Ruffnut was now—_oddly —_the female of men's desires_. _Even _more_ odd was that she heard Ruff had begun to date Fishlegs and Astrid had to wonder if it was all a ploy. Perhaps she could bring herself back long enough to talk to Ruff about it sometime—she did rather miss socializing but didn't want to risk the chance of having to converse with a certain _jerk_.

She gave an agitated sigh, dunking her linen into the flowing stream of water once more.

Her thoughts began to picture _him_ but she broke it by dragging the garment roughly across a rock, getting it the cleanest she knew how. _Scrub the cloth, wring it. Scrub the cloth, wring it._

She was alone at the moment, for what fool would do laundry on such a perfect day? She gnashed her teeth and cast a glance to her Deadly Nadder who was rolling in the grass—completely intoxicated with the feel of the soft blades. Beautiful bits of sunlight caught and reflected the brilliant turquoise of her scales that sent it dancing it across the water's surface.

Even the dragons were enjoying the warmth, as most of them laid—sprawled on rooftops, rocks, and in the old arena, basking in the sun.

This time of the year before she would have had Viking training in the mornings, but now that she had graduated, not to mention had been in a full battle, the only thing left for her do, traditionally—was to marry—and then produce young. She couldn't even look forward to such a thing. She wanted to keep her girlhood awhile longer—the carefree-like way of it that had been slipping little by little each day since winter. Instead of further thoughts on unpleasant things, she frowned and tried rendering her mind blank again, or fill it with laundry actions. _Scrub the cloth, wring it._

A quick shadow drifted over her and she craned her neck back to spot a sleek, black shape above, preparing to land. She hurriedly picked herself up and grabbed her laundry, instantly knowing what the shape was and what it brought. She rushed to be scarce, clicking her tongue for the Nadderhead to stop her pleasurable humming. The Nadder made a chortled sound and lifted herself, following Astrid into the grove of trees as if it were all a game.

She slipped into the bushes and positioned herself behind a bunch of low hanging pine branches to see what that dragon and his boy were up to—nearly having a sense of familiarity from those times she had hidden and waited for Hiccup to jog past on those afternoons after dragon training, long ago because she thought he was up to something weird. Now what had seemed so weird back then was normal now, she glanced at the dragon next to her as taken proof.

_I'm __**not**__ running away,_ she resolutely tried to convince when questioning herself to why she had hidden in the flora away from that young viking.

The night fury landed and started lapping at the water. They had been out flying, no wonder—it really was the perfect day for it. She saw Hiccup unbuckle his prosthetic from the stirrup and dismount, patting Toothless on the shoulder as he carefully surveyed the scene. It was as if he were looking for something specific but then he too, bent down at the bank and cupped the water in his palm to drink it.

_I've been doing my laundry in that water_, she scrunched her face up with disgust and a bit humored. She was watching him in such a way—in such way as if he had never broken her heart. She beat her fist against the tree base with a sudden anger at herself for momentarily forgetting and most of all at that russet-haired boy. The sound and motion caused Toothless to jerk his head up and look around, but only for a moment—he was much too thirsty to care to investigate. Hiccup never even noticed.

"What's this?" she heard him mumble as he wiped excess water from his chin hair, obviously finished with drinking. He bent down and picked up something white, a cloth. She realized a piece of a garment had fallen out of her basket but she wasn't about to let him know of her presence. She rather never wanted to talk to him again. It wasn't just because she was whole-heartedly furious at him but also because she wasn't certain she could keep her tears in. She just wanted forget. Forgetting was the easiest way to get on with her life.

He had tried to approach her before, but she was too stung to even acknowledge him and always managed to evade his advances. What could he possibly say to her after what he had done? She knew he had seen her so many weeks earlier at the summer celebration, but of course he wouldn't try to go to her then—not in front his _bride_ and while everyone was there. He had even disappeared for some time that evening and missed out on witnessing his Celtic tart flirting away with his cousin.

She watched him as he tucked the garment into his belt before sitting down, pulling off his boot and rolling up his pant leg to submerge his foot into the stream. He also took out his journal and a charred-tip birch twig and began to sketch.

She stopped watching and threw her back against the other side of the tree—it was too much. To see him like that—seeming so serene and carefree when a storm had been raging in _her_ for months. He did not love her anymore and she tried to convince herself that she hated him, but deep down knew she only told herself so because she couldn't have him.

She thought initially that beating him black and blue would make her feel better but the more she considered it, she knew whaling on him would make her feel even worse. So she opted to avoid him for the rest of her life, though unpractical and immature as it seemed.

_He will never be mine_, she reminded herself which always fired her ire. The Celtic lass _did _have him, and Astrid saw through watchful eyes that the tart couldn't appreciate him. She hated that girl so much, and hang the logical reasons she shouldn't—all she knew was that another lass had Hiccup and that was reason enough to hate her.

She waited until Hiccup left then finally she gathered her wits and marched back home to hang the linens to dry. They were clean _enough_.

The perfect day began to cloud over before dinnertime. The sun was edging its way down on the horizon when the clouds began to pour out in a common summer rainfall. People rushed indoors to avoid getting wet. Astrid had to quickly yank all her laundry off a line and transport them somewhere where they could actually dry.

She draped the linens over a beam in the shack behind her family's lodge—it was an acceptable place. It held the family supply of grain and there was enough room for the linens to hang and then be sorted and folded on the table when they were fully dry.

Outside it was a calm rain—no thunder, no lightening—just rain in its purest form as it clattered against the roof. The smell of it was stimulating, fresh, and made her want to shed her clothes and let the wetness cascade down her body to relieve her; to wash away everything.

Unfortunately, not everything could be washed away by the rain—all the emotion inside her and her memories were entities as difficult to separate from her as her own limbs.

The thought of limbs sent her mind right back to the thoughts that had tortured her that afternoon and the whole previous season—or rather thoughts of the _limbless_—of a young Viking that hadn't been successfully banished from her mind yet.

His wedding would be sometime soon, but he wouldn't be marrying the girl yearning for the rain. She felt some moisture gather in her eyes and quickly wiped them though they were disguised within the many raindrops that had caught on her face when she rushed to save the linens.

She did her best to stop thinking about it but her best was not cutting it. Many times a day her thoughts would settle on him, always with a wide spectrum of emotion.

For instance, when she saw him escorting his Celtic bride anywhere, a colossal anger and jealousy swept through her. Jealous that it couldn't be her, anger that Hiccup had thrown her away.

She also felt sad immediately afterward at the loss. It was devastating to her that she would never again be able to spend long nights with him laughing or talking, teasing or kissing.

Or even, in the future—to be loved by him—something she had looked forward to before the events of the spring. She was sure that he was—_had been_—the one.

She shook her head at her softening thoughts—no, she was still furious! Why would she want to be loved by that jerk? She kept telling herself that she hated him and even though her heart was in pieces, it was far from being fooled by those trite thoughts.

It was now dark but for the glow of candlelight from the surrounding lodges whose owners had yet to sleep.

She lit a lantern hanging from the shed's ceiling and sat at the open door waiting for the linens to dry, thinking, and listening to the rain. The last time she stood in the rain, all the love and happiness in her had just been destroyed—but that fact couldn't even tarnish the enchanting pull of the current rainfall.

Astrid swallowed her thoughts and then slipped her tunic over head and threw it along side the linens, leaving her top half covered with a wrapped undergarment. She un-braided her hair and also rid herself of her leggings before stepping out into the rain. She held her hands out and let the raindrops puddle into her palms, tilted her head back, eyes closed and welcomed the wetness that pattered against her face. Standing there for a few moments rendered her form slick with water. The rain was cool and the air was warm and it felt and smelled amazing—filling her senses.

She gathered and flipped her water-weighted hair over a shoulder where it stuck there and did a small twirl—losing her mind to the serenity of nature and to herself and not to that boy who had broken both their hearts.

She was not worried about being caught so scantily dressed, for it was late and the shed was on the other side of the lodge away from the public eye. She felt free in the rain—not a girl everyone expected the world from, not a spurned ex-girlfriend, not a crushing example of achievement of which she had made herself a name for. She was simply Astrid.

Astrid Hofferson.

She allowed her lips to part to a rare grin at that beautiful feeling of weightlessness, the closest she could be to flying without climbing onto a dragon.

"Astrid?" a quiet voice was uttered from the dark and was known to her, sounding nervous but a slight bit amused. In her mind, she fell from her exuberant flight—crashing back to the broken earth.

Her eyes snapped open, widened and simultaneously she inhaled a sharp, startled gasp. She stumbled backward into the shack holding her arms over herself. Even though nothing of a raw female was visible she was too improperly bare to be receiving anyone.

"_You _shouldn't be _here_!" she seethed in a hiss, angry at him for ruining her moment and grabbed her tunic to hastily don it. It dropped to the length of her mid-thigh and began soaking up the moisture still on her skin.

Her visitor did not take her tone or her words as a sure hint to be gone. Maybe he had been looking for her all day, maybe he tried finding her everyday since they had returned but she was just so good at hiding he hadn't found her alone until now.

She turned to face him with a scowl and saw he was still standing out in the rain, right at the entrance, dragging his eyes across her as if he was a boy dying of thirst and she was the only skin of water left in his world.

She used to be thrilled by the way he looked at her, giddy even—but now even though her heartbeat took to a faster pace it was not out of the pleasure of knowing what she caused him to feel but because he had cornered her. The absolute truth if it was that she _didn't _want him around because every time she looked or thought of him, she was forced to remember and re-live that shattering disappointment that had destroyed her a season ago.

She usually went the opposite direction to avoid eye contact or verbal exchange but now she was confined to a small space and he was in the threshold, between her and the world. His arms were bent and leaning on either of the edges in the doorway with his head laid onto one as he regarded her with the most earnest of expressions. It caused him to be less disconcerting, but still she wished he weren't there.

_Go away,_ she urged but the words did not make it to her lips. He was only furthering her anguish with his presence. She would have just punched him but couldn't bring herself to physically hurt him even after what he had done.

"You _have_ to give me a chance to explain."

"I'm not listening to _**anything**_ you have to say," she thoroughly dismissed him and turned to sort out the linens like she was initially supposed to. She didn't _want_ to talk about it. She didn't want to _think_ about it. She wanted all her memories of him to wash away like the mud outside.

He stepped further into the shed, she knew because she heard the '_clink_' of his metal prosthetic hit the wooden floor. She caught sight of a white garment fall over her shoulder and into her pile, knowing it was the one he had picked up earlier. She was curious to how he knew it was _hers_ but most of all, she was curious to why he was there.

No—no—she _wasn't_ that curious, she just wanted him to _leave_!

She shook her head at herself and at him, still without eye contact.

"Then I won't speak—but _please_—" her movement halted at his words. She felt that she had heard his words before in a time and place that felt so long ago she only was left with a feeling of consideration. There was a sudden warm, pleading, whispered, breath behind her, just at her ear, "—just let me _show_ you."

Then he quickly slipped something into her palm, a small, folded parchment. Without looking at him, she apprehensively opened it and saw it was a drawing of her—standing in the bushes. The line-work was smudged from some water damage but it was clear that he had known she was there at the washing stream all along.

She had forgotten that he had taught himself how to draw her without a reference from after all the times she had let him sketch her the last few years. Among the numerous pages of technical drawings only two living beings had ever had the privilege to capture Hiccup's imagination in art—Toothless—and the girl standing in front of him.

He was starting to make his point, but her pride was tough as leather armor. She'd be damned if she let him through again—a free pass straight to her vulnerability.

She felt fingers hesitantly, carefully, slide onto her waist from behind with the slightest of pressure to regain her attention. She looked up sharply over her shoulder, telling herself—and intending to tell him that she wouldn't allow this.

Before she could say a word, his lips moved over hers and she was utterly ensnared. The sensation was warm, wet, and even exhilarating.

She couldn't move away, it was as if her whole body had stopped obeying her scrambled thoughts to pull away, to bite him, to scream—she could only be preoccupied with those lips she had once spent a whole evening kissing, and realized she missed terribly.

Her mind and body were waging their own battle now and her body was winning. Was her heart that desperate to be put back together?

His hold around her tightened to pull her closer into him, and he deepened the kiss because she was not fighting it. She could feel the _thump-thump's_ of his own heart beating fast and hard through his chest, which in turn, reverberated through her back. It was too much.

Her mind regained control—she withdrew from his lips sharply, scowling all the while. Half of her was screaming at herself for halting such a wonderful feeling, in the same manner of a two-headed dragon—for that feeling of near weightlessness almost consumed her and she had forgotten Hiccup had been the only other way she had ever felt it.

She opened her eyes to his lopsided smile. He looked as if not a worry in the world was on his chest but she knew better. She turned around fully to face him, trying to ignore the lack of space between their bodies. Their eyes finally locked and she held her breath for it had been so very long since she had seen them. They studied her, a hint of sadness evident but also something else—_hope_?

"I'm so _sorry_ Astrid."

He wasn't apologizing for kissing her, but for all the rest that he had done. What was hard to ignore was the absolute sincerity in his voice.

"You can't do this—you're getting _married_—" she chided, losing her words and hated that her voice had cracked and a lump had formed at the base of her throat. Since when had she been the vulnerable one? She was so unsure and he looked so confidant, so at peace with himself as he gazed upon her.

His tunic was wet and adhered to his upper body, the strings at the chest were loosened for the summer air and his hair was slick at the sides of his face, his neck, and on his brow from the rain that he had walked through to find her there.

Did he really expect her to forgive him so easily, so quickly?

"Yes. I should hope so—" he replied which caused her pent-up violence to surge and before he could finish his thought, she swiped her hand up with intentions of hitting him in his face, even if it wasn't at full force. She couldn't strike him though for he caught her hands and she stared at him with tears forming once more.

She hated crying, she hated that he made her cry. She sniffed them back—there was no way she was going to cry in front of him. That shattering disappointment was sinking into her though, making it hard too keep the tears at bay.

What had happened to that boy she could render a puddle on the ground with a single punch? Who was this man who clasped her wrist whilst smiling like she was the only sure thing he should be smiling at? Why couldn't they go back to before when everything was good and not a tangled circle of misfortune and complexity?

He leaned forward, causing their bodies to press together like they once had a winter's night but that was when Astrid was content on catching her prey, now everything was different—_switched_—he was the one who sought her. He was brave to do so, knowing her mood toward him; he had to have known she was livid considering she had not spoken a word to him since before the spring raid. She twisted her lips away, just in case he would try to kiss her again.

"—To you," he sighed, never losing that look in his eyes or that gentle grin.

"Excuse me?" she choked, not comprehending.

"I should hope to wed _you_, Astrid."

"But what about your negotiation? What about _her_?"

"It's taken care of."

"But—"

He pressed a finger against her lips, now adamant, "It's taken care of. Now that I have found you, all I want is for you to know is that I love you—have _always_ loved you, that I want you as _my _wife, and want to know if you will still have me."

She could only stare in shock, a torrent of questions filling her head but none could surface from his admission to which he gave a pathetic sigh and looked upwards before returning his gaze on her, "I _hope_ to the Gods that you'll still have me."

Her pride and the pieces of her heart stopped her from blurting an outright '_yes_.'

Her months of heartbreak would not be satisfied with a sudden proposal and a rather unorthodox one at that. What happened to a simple, _'will you marry me?' _

She hadn't even forgiven him yet.

And nothing about their situation was simple anyhow.

Though she had involuntarily prickled with hope at his words. She ignored the feeling, not allowing herself to be weakened.

She pushed him away, as his wet clothes were getting her semi-dry ones damp.

"Why ask me and not my father?" She felt like being aloof to him. Did he think himself so special that he could forgo that important step to proposing? He was still smiling in that way of his—not deterred the least for she had let on hope that she would at least consider him again.

His confidence was rather irksome, like he knew if he would spread his lips and smile his boyish, lopsided grin it would cause her to immediately take him back.

Maybe.

That's when the fact hit her that they could never go back to before because he _wasn't_ a boy anymore just as much as she was no longer a girl. Sure, he was still a boy in some ways but she couldn't expect him to stay the same forever—he was the product of two battles one with humans, one not—and she would be the fool to believe he was still the unsure, easily malleable adolescent male that she had first known and ended up falling for.

His smile finally faded, concentrated—thinking of words for the reply. She crossed her arms in wait of his answer.

"What good would it do if I didn't have _your_ permission?"

Leave it to Hiccup to negate tradition. Who asked the bride if she wanted to marry the man? Then again, she had to remind herself that she was the one who wanted someone '_different_'

"Still, how can I? You—with what happened—and _her_."

He cupped her face in his palms and stared at her seriously, "You _know_ I never loved her. This was _no one's_ fault—not mine, not yours, and not _hers_—sometimes life happens, and we are forced to make choices that we wouldn't make otherwise—but I've decided to _choose_ my own happiness, Astrid—" He titled his head down and again, kissed her but with all the genuineness he had in him. It was a relatively quick kiss but it felt as though it could make up for the many months their lips had not had the privilege to be joined—filled with every bit of apology, admiration, affection, care and desire he carried for her.

He was the one to end it that time, for if it continued any longer could release a side of him neither had ever experienced.

He closed his eyes and set his forehead against hers and his kiss—that _one_ kiss was passionate enough to drive his point undoubtedly but in case she still wasn't clear, he softly voiced it.

"My happiness is _you_."

She realized he had reused her same point that she had driven on a winter morning to calm Snotlout when he found out she had spurned him to be with his younger cousin. Hiccup didn't _want_ to spurn her though, she finally understood, through the tangle of her dark emotions—he did it out of necessity.

She had to wonder how everything was suddenly so '_taken care of'_ but she believed. She chose to trust his word.

Her pride was the only thing keeping them apart now, and for once—maybe she should just hang it. Really, she had been so wrought with anger and heartbreak she had dismissed the overall dreadful price that would have been paid if Hiccup had not made his decisions.

She was willing to let go of the boy because she was satisfied with the _man_ that Hiccup had become.

"Yes—" she murmured and shut her eyes as well, feeling herself falling deeper into his embrace, both sliding downward into a calm from their frenzied thoughts and nervous hearts. She pressed the side of her face flush against his torso and a feeling of euphoria washed over her, knowing she had forgiven him; he had convinced her to forgive him, and she was relieved that she could. He really was a skilled craftsman for he had mended her heart and maybe if she hadn't been so unwilling to listen to him in the first place it could have been mended much sooner, "—I will have you, Hiccup."

The remainder of the night melded into an uncertain blur of lips, skin, entwined limb[s], embraces, breathlessness and whispers of fervored adoration and all of it was wrapped between the sounds of the rain.

The one thing that was most certain though was the overwhelmingly happy feeling that filled Astrid from core to surface when she awoke the next morning, knowing those were _his_ arms slung over her waist as they lay on the floor of the shed beneath a pile of linens. They belonged _together._

She blinked rapidly as the morning sun filled her eyes, noticing the beams of light cascading through the remaining raindrops that hung from the overhanging roof.

She would have scoffed, if at age fourteen someone were to tell her that of all people, Horrendous Hiccup Haddock III would be the keeper of her heart someday. Now, lying there against him, she was thankful that he was the only one. He had broken her heart and yet still he knew how to fix it, cared enough to fix it—_Just like Toothless's tail fin._

Overnight she had transcended from her darkest to her lightest, and it felt damn amazing. She thought then, that if she bit into someone, she'd infect them with her happiness because she was so elated with it.

She carefully took Hiccup's arm from its place at her hips and brought his wrist to her mouth.

"OW! _Why_ would you do _that_?" was the confused, barely awake, response to her attempt at testing her theory.

So maybe happiness couldn't be spread through biting, but it was worth the tiny bit of revenge. She never would have let him get away without a scratch—"_That_ was for breaking my heart."

He moved against her and she saw his head peer over her shoulder, tired—bleary-eyed, with tousled russet-colored hair and containing a bewildered expression.

"And this—_this_ is for making it better," she moved her smile against the bite and kissed it tenderly, letting her lips linger on his skin and enjoying the pleasurable expression his face took on because of it.

She knew then, without a doubt, that Hiccup was _her_ happiness as well—he had infected her with it—and from that moment on trusted that he always would.

**

* * *

****A/N:**

_I would just like to say that this chapter has been written since before the end of '__**The**__** Sting of Spring**__' with nothing but obsessive tweaking until its post today and I'm damn positive it is the most moving and intricate piece of emotional, provocative, not to mention the longest romance-centered chapter I have ever weaved. I wanted this chapter perfect for all of you and I hope you enjoyed it __**immensely**__ and are satisfied because I *loved* writing it. - xoxox_

**EDIT**_: ALSO if you would like the extra, M-rated extension of Astrid and Hiccup's reunion up above I suggest '**Second Chances'** before going to Chapter 6 ;) _

_AND if you want more Hiccup/Astrid remember to check out __ their M-lite wedding night scene '**Newlyweds**' after the Summer/before reading Autumn._

_Thanks!  
_


	6. Breath of Fresh Air

What was one to do with themselves in a time when warriors were not needed, no fighting was to be had? Training was over?

Fishing. It was a simple answer and the best in Snotlout's opinion. For any season he didn't find himself occupied or needed to dole out physical pummeling, fishing was always the alternative.

He used to do it with a stick and line but now that he had a dragon, it was like—well, shooting fish in a barrel. He watched the Monstrous Nightmare dive at the sea's surface, extended her neck into the depths and puling out a half of a school of trout within her large jaw. She landed at the shore of the Island and released her catch into a net that Snotlout held out to her. Of course she was promised half as she did most of the work. The best fish were a good distance out from the shallows, as everyone else fished near the bay so a majority of what was served in the Mead hall or what was sold at the docks was the same over and over. Icelandic Cod and Smoked Eel.

"Atta Girl, Fireworm!" He stood on his toes and slapped her neck in praise. She gave a tame growl for her admirer. He couldn't ever have believed that he was one of the many Vikings who were actually _rooting_ for Hiccup to slay her in the kill ring all those years ago. Nope, never again and if anyone thought to harm her he'd lop off their hands with his sword.

Tuffnut would usually join him at fishing and bring the zippleback. He would have thought a dragon with two heads would do twice as much fishing but not the case of the Thorston Zippleback—that dragon had problems and usually ended up fighting heads over a fish, and when one head won the prize, the other would sabotage the flight and the whole beast would fall into the sea. It was a hella amusing thing to watch, but bad for the activity. The zippleback scared the fish away.

No, Tuff was off sulking or plotting somewhere—both actions involving women. Tuffnut should have learned there was a value in having a wing-man, though he insisted he didn't _need_ help in getting girls. Snotlout had heard that the lad made a fool out himself involving the tavern-keeper's daughter already. Snotlout gave a sudden comedic laugh-snort comparing his best friend to the zippleback that he kept company with—_they both scare away what they want_.

Fireworm gave a satisfied grunt and then took off back to the water, farther out than before, perhaps to nip a few morsels while they were fresh.

It was an odd summer to say the least. Ruffnut and Fishlegs had seemed to have gotten _together_ as weird and nonsensical as it was—at least he spotted them leaving the celebration the previous evening and could only assume. The scarcity of Astrid and Hiccup could have factored into it. Even apart, those two were partaking in the same lonely misery.

Snotlout had at first, entertained the thought that perhaps he could pick up the pieces of Astrid's heart and start over with her but realized he didn't want to be with someone who couldn't love him, and she had made it clear those many months ago that she would never love him the way he wanted. She was still dear to him, and he wished she wasn't so full of pride and stubbornness to let at least a friend console her through her dark moods.

In all actuality, he probably should have been trying to find a girl to settle down with himself, but the thing was—he didn't feel the sting of loneliness in the way Tuff had or the way Astrid did—not anymore. Again he thought of the previous evening, which only caused him to grin.

_She was alone once again since her neglectful groom-to-be had hastily abandoned her on a night meant for them. He couldn't stand to see such melancholy on her face, but knew it was due to more than the lack of her future husband's care. She was trapped. _

_So he approached her, not noticing the odd stares of the villagers who watched his movements suspiciously._

"_Would you like to dance?"_

He saw a stone skip past him and that cut through the surface of water, which also cut his memory short from his favorite part. The stone created ripples upon ripples until it sank for good.

"I thought you'd be here."

He really thought he must have had conjuring powers of some sort. _Thank you, Odin_. He turned from his net with a full toothy smile at that girl.

_Rock Girl_.

Of course he knew she had a name, but he preferred to refer to her by the nickname he bestowed upon to her when they first met. He and _Rock Girl_'s initial acquaintance was begotten by violence, hate, and sure enough _rocks_, but somehow—_somehow_ it had managed to turn to a comfortable friendship over the months. Though he couldn't help but to have that extra sort of feeling for her all along, and he told himself that it was wrong but he couldn't fight the attraction that nature had given.

He never expected _Rock Girl_ to ever glance his way again after the Southern Islands. In fact he assumed she had hated him. After all, he was a Viking, she a Celt—they had personally threatened each others' lives at one point, and it was in general principle they should not like each other.

However, take away the title of Celt and underneath he found a sly, witty girl full of humor who was utterly alone. Just as she, in turn, found a young man whose tough outer exterior held inside someone who was willing to give her a chance when none of the rest of the village would.

Not even Hiccup, her own future husband, who would be horribly neglectful of her at most times. He had postponed their wedding for long enough that everyone could see his true feelings or lack thereof towards her and Snotlout didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed. Relieved she was not yet wed, and annoyed that Hiccup wasn't being responsible to his promise. The kid would be the leader someday, and as much as 'Lout shuddered at _that_ disaster—didn't want to be embarrassed under the rule of a flaky whelp, one he was related to, no less.

"Its not hard to figure I'd be fishing on a nice day," he finally retorted to the girl standing next to him—tying up the net, paying no mind to the wriggling fish that were desperate for water. He heard the screech of Fireworm offshore—the dragon had spotted them in a close proximity and was quickly approaching by air.

_Rock Girl _froze, as she was still terrified of dragons and had not seen the Nightmare out on the waters. She grabbed his hand and they ran away as only he laughed in good humor at Fireworm's odd possessiveness over him. They hid themselves into a small labyrinth of rocks that protruded from the shore and heard the Nightmare's wings beating the air above them. Snotlout tucked the lass under his arm and they bent down to avoid being seen. A familiar hacking ignition was sounded and the summer heat grew ten times more. Fireworm had gotten so worked up she had caught herself ablaze. He felt _Rock Girl_ bury her head into his side. He couldn't blame her for being terrified—after all Monstrous Nightmares were one of the most terrifying breeds of dragons. He remembered the time when such dragons caused him a pinprick of fear but now he felt akin to the species.

He stood up and emerged from the rocks to the shore, leading Fireworm away, and threw his net of fish in front of him into the water where the ones left alive wiggled hopefully to return home. He was offering Fireworm a bribe to calm down. She scrawled and dove into the water, distinguishing herself of flame and then her large head surfaced just in front of him with an open jaw—wanting to be fed.

"Hey, Bryn come 'ere!" He called over his shoulder.

_Bryn _was her even shorter nickname. _Bryn, _to him was sharper and he pronounced it as 'brine', something that could be taken for distasteful. He explained to her about trolls and whatnot and how they wouldn't be scared a lick at her given name of _Brynna_. It was much too sweet and delicate sounding. Though, those stories always did garner his suspicions when wondering why his parents gave him a truly nasty name that of nose slime mixed with an oaf. Still, no trolls or gnomes had yet bothered him in his eighteen years of living. So perhaps his name was doing something right.

Her reply was faint, nervous, and suspicious all at once, "Are you absolutely mad? Your dragon will _eat_ me—your dragon _hates_ me."

"She hates everyone."

He saw _Rock Girl's _freckled face pop out from behind a tower of the rock with a glare. She was adorable when she was scared. She had always tried to put on a brave face when intimidated, which he admired, but he liked to know she could be vulnerable. As a Viking, it was habit to discover weaknesses in others—not that he would ever hurt her. He _couldn't_ bring himself to hurt her, not even when he thought her his enemy, even after she had crashed a rock into his skull and maybe that was why she intrigued him so much.

If he wasn't careful, he could cause serious trouble to Hiccup the way he was so familiar with her. He took a risk in asking _her_ to dance at her own engagement celebration while Hiccup was absent but he wouldn't take it back—remembering her smile, the feel of her in his arms as they swung about. _That_ was his favorite part of the previous night's memory she had initially interrupted. He loved her smile, he loved that he was the one that caused her to smile when she was in a place and a position she rightfully shouldn't smile again.

She was a breath of fresh air.

But that was what she was to him. What he was to her he could only keep at guessing, it's not like he could outright ask her if she felt the way he did. For all he knew he could have been her convenient entertainer in her world of entrapment.

Fireworm let a growl escape from the back of her throat at seeing _Rock Girl_.

"Chill out," he demanded and lifted one of the trout, throwing it into her open mouth. She tilted her head back and ate it by letting it slide down her throat. She opened her mouth again for more.

"Come here," he said again to _Rock Girl_.

"No."

She sassed too much.

"_Bryn,_" he splashed back to where she stood, "Lets go."

"No!" she cried and made a dart away from him but he grabbed her and easily held her as she wriggled just as one of his fish. He lifted and carried her until they stood in front of Fireworm who was eyeing them suspiciously but had since closed her jaw. Bubbles popped up from where her nostrils were submerged but her entire head surfaced once more at their approach.

"If you're going to live here you got to get used to dragons," he told her and forcibly set her down so the dragon was an arm lengths away. She went rigid, wide-eyed and dared not move. He took her hand in his and reached it out toward the nightmare's snout. This was how Hiccup had introduced him to dragons; a human had to show them they could be trusted.

Her fingers were shaking and her brave façade was all but vanished as she stared into the dragon's eyes. Finally her hand set on the scales of the nose and she scrunched her eyes shut as if something terrible was going to happen as a consequence. Fireworm just growled softly, not in warning but content and let a sharp breath out through her nostrils.

_Rock Girl_ opened her eyes and stared incredulously. He loved the color of her eyes, no one in the village had such vivid green eyes.

Fireworm opened her mouth again and _Rock girl_ yelped, nearly knocking 'Lout over in attempt to escape. He held onto her firmly though.

"Relax, she just wants another fish." He handed one to her from the net and motioned for her to throw it in the open mouth. She tossed it in and that's when Fireworm must have figured she'd had enough of them so spread her leathery wings and took flight.

_Rock girl_ sort of collapsed backwards into him with relief, "Never do that to me again, 'Lout."

Her voice was stern but when he looked down he could see she wore one of her wry smiles. She didn't like admitting she was wrong—something he could understand as it took a lot for him to do the same.

They were quiet for a moment, looking out toward the sea. He felt comfortable and a wash of melancholy filled him realizing if she ever did return his feelings she would have to be in secret—an affair. For she was contracted by the highest order to Hiccup, and there was no way out of it.

"I didn't ever think I would like it here," she finally admitted quietly.

"You're saying you like it here?"

It was a place that was mostly cold, tough, kept company of fearsome fire beasts and she had told him many times she did not like Berk. She was trapped there, so why did she all of a sudden decide that she liked it?

A breeze had picked up and caused a piece of an auburn curl to become loose from behind her ear. He reached out instinctively and brushed it back to place but his hand lingered at her cheek.

They stared at each other. If he stared for too long he might do something he would regret. Though, she wanted to tell him something—he was sure of it by the way she was puffing out her cheeks as if she were keeping something bottled in. A secret.

"What is it?"

"Hiccup wants to see you."

He rolled his eyes. Hiccup really did _ruin_ everything—moments, relationships, battles, and pretty much anything Snotlout ever wanted or liked—_Rock Girl_ included. The thing that irritated him the most was the whelp didn't ever _intend _to do it. He was convinced it was just all a part of some elaborate and unfortunate scheme Loki had created for Snotlout as chaos to the brawny vikings' life evermore.

He remembered she had indicated she thought she would '_find_' him fishing which meant—disappointingly—he _didn't_ have conjuring powers after all. Hiccup had sent her, but it he he hadn't a clue to why.

"So what does he want?"

She shrugged her shoulders but he could see the smile reappear on her and had to wonder _why_.

She tilted her head and spoke mysteriously—"I think you will like what he has to say."

She had to be jesting. He had told her plenty of times what a pain in the rear Hiccup was to him. He laughed a good one and shook his head in disbelief.

"Where is he?"

"Usual place."

_The forge._

"Walk with me?" he asked but she was already next to him. She was suddenly unusually quiet—contemplative. Usually she would chatter on about things that often amused him.

As they walked toward the village from the sea, she caught her hand in his and it startled him. He stopped his path forward to look down at it, study it, wondering what it meant and a hope rose in him that she might be feeling the same way he had been about her all along. As soon as she met his eyes, the unspoken tension had broken between them suddenly as he pulled her closer and leaned into her—meeting her lips. He didn't care if anyone saw him as he kissed her. Kissing her felt like it should have happened long ago, it just felt _right_ though it was so wrong. But isn't this what Hiccup had done to him in the first place involving Astrid? Nothing tasted so sweet as a little coincidental payback. Actually, reconsidering, nothing tasted as good as Brynna.

He felt her arms throw around his neck and barely registered that she had wanted it just as much.

He pulled away, suddenly angry about it all—once again at the unfairness of it. He was so angry he could just, _punch _something—with his face.

The fact he always tried ignore surfaced to the forefront of what little thoughts he carried: She _was_ Hiccup's. He gazed upon _Rock Girl_, who looked so good from their kiss, all but the part where she was laughing at him.

"What?"

"You really are a half-wit."

"What? Why?" He became even angrier. She had kissed him and now she was insulting him, _who_ did that?

She pulled him closer by the strings of his tunic and stared up at him with a raised brow, "You really couldn't tell could you?"

"Tell what?"

"_You're_ the reason I like this place," and with that she nearly hopped up to kiss him again but this time much more roughly. He felt his fingers tangle their way through her hair as well as her fingernails dig into his skin through the shirt on his back. _Rock Girl_ unleashed a full barrage of fervor into her kiss and he responded just as strong. Their kiss was made from the months of learning about one another, walks through the village when Hiccup was absent to escort her anywhere, making each other giggle-snort at ridiculous stories, him teaching her about his dragon and together ignoring the suspicious looks of those around them—and it damn nearly took his breath away to know that someone he felt for, had felt for him in return for once.

No, Hiccup couldn't have her—Hiccup didn't even want her! That's one reason he found it so easy to be near her, Hiccup didn't notice and if he did—he didn't seem to care.

He pulled away breathlessly and held her by her shoulders. She just smiled in that way of hers and he knew there was nothing in the world he wanted more than _Rock Girl_.

"I'm going to go talk to Hiccup."

"You damn best be going to talk to Hiccup," She flipped some of her untamed hair back to place with a smirk still on her face and he had to wonder if she was up to something sly but couldn't entertain the thought too long, just because he couldn't prove it. Her behavior seemed very _forward_. She seemed very much willing to make him her lover, and he—at the moment wanted to be.

"I'm going to go talk to Hiccup," he repeated, just to be clear.

"And I'll be waiting," she gave him an extra sultry look to which just fueled his determination that much more in successfully tricking Hiccup to relinquish his romantic responsibility on her—which should be easy considering the fact he had no interest in_ Rock Girl_. They'd be married but in only in contract, which _sucked_ but even a fraction of her was better than none. Tricking Hiccup wasn't the easiest of tasks since they had grown older. Hiccup used to be very gullible when they were kids and did nearly everything they told him to just because he had been so desperate to fit in. What Hiccup never understood was that he _never_ could because he was so _un_-viking like in those years before. So maybe he didn't even have to _trick _Hiccup, unless the young Viking would eventually decide it was was better to try and love what he had.

But for all the trouble Hiccup caused Snotlout, he still thought the dragon part of things was rather spectacular and knew that it wouldn't exist if it weren't for the leaner Viking's efforts.

He made his way up to the forge, resolved that by the end of their conversation he would be able to have _Rock Girl_.

He threw open the door and Hiccup was at the anvil, striking a piece of metal to it's finalizing state. How could he stand the fires of the forge on top of the heat of summer? He looked up at Snotlout's entrance and had nervous eyes.

"We need to talk," they told each other at the same time.

"You go first," Hiccup offered.

"No, you go first," Snotlout threw back, because _he_ wanted the last word.

"So..." His cousin seemed to grapple for thoughts and it caused 'Lout to become impatient. "I know I haven't been your favorite person lately."

_That is for damn sure_, 'Lout snorted derisively to his thoughts.

Hiccup frowned slightly ,"But there's something of business I want to discuss."

"So, what is it?"

"Last night my father told me I was to take his position after my marriage."

_What about this did Bryn think I would like?_ Snotlout's thoughts took a moody turn, the day was quickly approaching that he had been dreading—_Chief Hiccup the Useful_. On top of that, he still felt the sting of Hiccup's words—that he was the one getting married to _Rock Girl_. Then he noticed how dry Hiccup's tone was when he said his words. Did Hiccup _not_ want to be Chief?

"And I'm not as _apt_ at coordinating battles, or drawing up plans for a defense or eager enough command a whole faction of men."

Snotlout couldn't agree more. He continued to stare at Hiccup, urging him to continue his thoughts.

"So I thought that when I do become chief I would appoint you my top commander. You'd have full say and direction over any kind of military action. " You should be the one in charge of that stuff since your a better fighter and you're part of the _elite._ "

Snotlout was thrown for a loop. This was a _big_ thing. He would practically be the chief's right hand man in that position—a _powerful_ position.

"Uh, thanks Hiccup but I have to tell you something—"

"One more thing," Hiccup held out his hand and Snotlout generously allowed him to continue.

"I saw you and Brynna smiling at each other last night—you two have been sort of close over the summer—"

Snotlout grew worried that Hiccup was on to them, noticing what they thought he never did. He opened his mouth to protest but knew it was a futile lie.

"Sorry," was all he could mumble but not sincerely.

Hiccup gave him an odd look, "Why?"

"She's your betrothed, I shouldn't be attracted to her—"

"So you _are?"_

So maybe Hiccup didn't see as well as he thought.

Snoutlout looked up earnestly, "Dude, I adore her."

"Well then—" Hiccup's eyes lit up, and the next words out of his mouth utterly shocked the brunette, "Marry her."

Snotlout suddenly felt like he was the one being tricked, "How will this sit with your negotiation?"

"I promised she'd be wed to a viking of our elite. I thought I was the only one at the time, but I forgot that _you_ could just as well fit the contract."

And then, a great pressure lifted from 'Lout's chest at realizing Hiccup was right. He had even heard the same demands but also thought Hiccup was the one they required to marry the Celt as he would be the leader. However, now Snotlout would be top commander, and that counted for something.

"Would she be willing of this trade?"

"She is technically required to marry into this clan due to the negotiations but though given the choice of any husband she could ever want, she chose you."

"She did?" he felt elated although it was already obvious he was the man for her.

"Yes. I told her my idea for it last night after the celebration. She couldn't have been happier."

"Sweet!" Snotlout pumped his fist in the air triumphantly and turned to leave to find her—_his rock girl_. Now it was explained why she was suddenly so happy, so forward—she _knew _she was to be with him at the end of the day.

"So what did you want to talk to me about?" Hiccup remembered and asked.

"Nothing, forget I said anything," he shrugged with a slight sing-song of new cheer in his voice. He heard his cousin let out a sigh and strike the metal once more.

"'Lout, don't tell anyone though—not until I can find Astrid and tell her myself."

"Astrid? Do you think she will even let you near her?"

"I have to try. She avoids me worse than a dragon to a smoked eel but I'm willing to follow her until I can finally get her alone so I can at least explain myself to her."

Snotlout knew his young cousin had his work cut out for him. Astrid's pride would be difficult to break through.

"And what if you can't?"

A wash of sadness filled Hiccup's features but he gave a weak, lopsided smile, "Well at least one of us gets their happy ever after."

And for the first time Snotlout felt a sweeping admiration for Hiccup—looking to please others when he, himself was still miserable and possibly could be forever. 'Lout's ill will melted toward the russet-haired Viking and he found himself replying "You'll get her back, man."

Hiccup nodded with a hopeful appreciation.

Snotlout _did_ hope Hiccup would be successful at reaching through to Astrid. For all that Hiccup had given his cousin in the previous five minutes was enough to be indebted for a lifetime and the best part was that Hiccup didn't _expect _repayment in any shape or form. He was only making the kinds of decisions he soon would be making more of as Berk's leader. Snotlout had hope for their futures for once.

Though 'Lout's thoughts couldn't stay focused on wondering the future of Hiccup as it was quickly filled with the thoughts of his own future, and a certain girl that he could be closer to if he could only know where to find her. She was waiting for him somewhere within the island though she did not specify where and he grew eager at the prospect of her leading him on a sort of chase. She would be his fully and he couldn't have been any damn happier as he took off down the hill and not intending to tell any onlookers to why.

The heat simmered around them all that season, catching their hearts and hormones afire. They each had paths to a future, though unclear as some may be and a single emerging emotion or action could change their fates forever whether it be a choice, a consideration, forgiveness, or an act of spontaneity. By the end of the season, the summer's fervor had infected all those young Vikings of Berk, and would continue to for many seasons to come.

**xXx**

**_A/N: Well there's another season down. Autumn has yet to begin and what shall we find there? You will just have to wait and see! I can say there will be a subtle change._**

_This season had a theme of new emotions and wrapped up with a ribbon of romance, above all they were character sketches as usual and provided focus to their emotions and lives while showing resolve. At this point they've abandoned their oneshot-ness somewhat but I still think they could stand alone as they have enough backstory in each to not be terribly confusing. Heh, whatevs. _

_Keep in touch and thank you greatly for all the best damn reviews an author could ask for!_

_***love***_

_Autumn should pop up in a few weeks._

**and _Character names, place names, dragon things found in this story are intellectual property of Cressida Cowell and if not hers then they are the money making property of Dreamworks' 'How to Train Your Dragon' feature film [that I am obsessed with]_ **_any other characters I made up are free range._


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